The Greatest Gatsby
by red-tenko
Summary: A different style of Bebop fic, and a different kind of SxF. A year after RFB Faye finds a job, but her boss is obsessed with finding out who killed the Red Dragons and Faye is dragged right back to her past
1. Earth Girls ain't Easy

I don't believe in Once Upon a Time, so I'll begin this with something equally cliché: it was a dark and stormy night.  
  
Actually that's a lie. It all started on a night that was clear and illuminated, as Martian nights tend to be with two moons in the sky. I didn't know it at the time, but that night hadn't really been the beginning- it had been everything the real beginning had been leading up to, like the horrible snapping of a link which causes the entire chain to break.  
  
Before I tell you what happened I want to make one thing clear: I used to be a normal person, and I interacted best with other normal people. The problem was, I hardly ever got to do so for I was and still am directly associated with Marla Hearst, who is anything but normal.  
  
But even with Marla I remained normal-it was Faye who turned me into someone different. It was Faye's fault, but I still blame Marla.  
  
It was through Marla that I met Faye Valentine, and later on Spike Spiegel. And also it was because of my boss that the whole business around those two came about. It's a complicated story, but even now, a year afterward, I feel the need to write it down for I still turn over the events in my mind as if they happened yesterday.  
  
It started this way: it was one-something in the morning and I was asleep when my phone started to ring. I had no intention of answering it, because I'd stayed up late the night before and I just knew it was Marla wanting something I was too tired to do. But of course, trying to ignore my very loud phone was difficult and trying to ignore Marla Hearst outright futile.  
  
She is a very obsessive woman, you must understand that. If you remember anything I say about her, remember that she is an obsessive woman.  
  
So I ended up answering my phone after all. I picked up the receiver and immediately the collective mumblings of drunks and the clinking of glasses and the humming of a television somewhere in the background met my ears like some window to the Friday night scene I never involve myself in.  
  
And then there came the voice I expected. "Vivika? Wha took you sho long?" Marla Hearst was drunk, and as irresponsible as she is I must giver her credit for always using a designated driver-namely me.  
  
"I was sleeping."  
  
"Were you? Bu itsh Fri-ay 'ight. Shoulda been screwin a dude--I'd've forgivin ya then." There was a brief pause during which I could hear her burst into her usual fit of giggling partial to alcohol aftermath. She wasn't really laughing at me, just at things in general.  
  
"Anyhows, I needa ride, m'kay Viv? I found a new bar-juz delightful, hear me? ~Delightful~. Ish called theeee.." I heard her voice from farther away as she took her head away from the receiver and asked some person what the name of the bar was. "The Big Shot-ain't tha great? Like tha show tha usedta be on for the buckaroosssssss."  
  
"I know of it," I told her. I don't know why but I said it as if I'd actually been inside that place-I pass it on the way to a restaurant I'm a regular at. Honestly, before that night, I'd thought it was a gay bar.  
  
"Ya do? Good for you!" she sounded more pleased with her supposed influence on me than with the actual though that I'd go into a bar of my own accord. "Anyhows, clean tha crap outa the back seat cuz I met a new frien' and she's gonna shtay wid me for a lil while."  
  
As I drove to the bar I contemplated what Marla had said. It was a strange thought for me that Marla made friend. She didn't have friends, really. She considered me a friend, and that should give you an idea of how close she actually got to people.  
  
When I pulled up to the curb in front of The Big Shot, Marla was already waiting for me outside the door, completely wasted with her arm slung around the shoulder of a tall woman for support.  
  
"Here we are!" she cried out with a flourishing gesture of her free arm. "Quick gettin here, atta girl." The tall woman was helping her, with more shoving than support, to sit down in the back seat. Marla waved a limp- wristed hand at her and said, "This here's my new frien', Faye Valentine." Even drunk, my boss never forgets the introductions. She can't hold her head under liquor, no way, but at least she's the type who remembers things after a night of boozing.  
  
"Faye this's my go-girl, Vivika Chen-hey Viv! You shoulda seen this one-" she gave Miss Valentine a slap on the shoulder, "drank as much as I did bu look how shtraight she sits!"  
  
Faye and I exchanged glances of mutual understanding: we both found my boss crazy as hell, and I think at that point Valentine and I were sort of friends.  
  
~ Marla blacked out somewhere on the ride to her apartment and Faye and I got to talking. Like any new acquaintances, we talked about things we had in common, and therefore talked about my boss.  
  
Faye got to talking about how she and Marla met, and while she talked I remember the strong scent of beer on her breath combined with cigarettes and I could tell this was just the type of person my boss knew nothing about.  
  
"I was flirting with this man," Faye explained to me. She talked very clearly, and if it weren't for the breath I'd never have believed she was drunk. "Something happened recently-actually this is the one year anniversary of something bad and I really wanted to get wasted but I'm broke." She grinned kind of wickedly. "But you don't need money in a bar as long as there's a lonely man in the stool next to you, that's a universal truth but even more so here."  
  
By here, she meant Trimalchio-a complete nothing in comparison to other Martian cities--but I didn't think at the time that the men were any less lonely Mars than anywhere else in the solar system. Now, I think that all the lonely men are on Mars, but I haven't gotten to that point in the story yet.  
  
"Me and the guy were doing the usual flirty small talk, and somewhere along the line the bar's name becomes a topic, and the guy says 'Big Shot used to be a show for bounty hunters, but I found it pretty damn funny and watched it anyway' and then he asked me if I'd seen it before it went off the air."  
  
"Have you?" I asked, pretending like I was interested. Honestly, I liked Faye. There were many moments afterward when I didn't and when I did, but at the time of our first conversation I liked her because I believed she was normal-and after working for Marla, normal was refreshing-but then the next thing she said really wrecked my image.  
  
"Damn right I have!" she said that kind of loudly; the first and only indication of drunkenness aside from her rosy cheeks and the already established scent. "I used to be a bounty hunter! And I told that man so."  
  
Secretly, I'd been feeling more on the shocked side of appalled at her unhindered confession, but I merely replied causally, "Were you? What did you change careers to?"  
  
"I have no idea what I changed to, to be honest," Faye gave me a knowing smile and both our eyes strayed to the sleeping Marla. "That woman was at the stool on the other side of me and as soon as she hears what I used to do she goes and gets all excited and before I know it she's buying me drinks and making me tell her all about being a cowgirl."  
  
I laughed a little. "It's just the type of thing she'd find fascinating."  
  
"Yes! That's the word she used, '~fascinating~'." Valentine laughed as she placed emphasis on one of Marla's favorite words and doing an impersonation. "At any rate she took to me so much that she offered me a job but when I asked what it was she was probably too drunk to give me an answer. She just said I could work for 'the company' and it paid big."  
  
I'll stop talking about the first day here, because in retrospect it's not all that important. I keep writing about Marla, but really the person I'm trying to show you is Faye. Spike and her affected me somehow, just by watching them, you see. I figure if I write about the whole thing then even I might understand why those two keep invading my thoughts.  
  
But it's really important to understand Marla, because the whole event-I used to think of it as the whole mess, but now I realize that it was, in a way, an event-was her fault. Or maybe not her fault, but thanks to her. I'm still not sure which.  
  
~ Marla's "company" did not and still does not exist. She doesn't have a job, but despite that she's loaded. And I mean that-completely loaded. It started with the one family friend of hers, a Mr. Heffner, who was a very important man. I don't know what his trade was, but the industry he owned was huge and stocks in it could make you rich, if you ever could get your hands on a share.  
  
Like I said, Heffner was a family friend, but even with that kind of an acquaintance the Hearsts never got into stocks. But one day Marla met a man who owned a small newspaper company which serviced the northern continent on Venus and its local events. He wanted to go planet wide, but he needed the money. Coincidentally, he also dabbled in the market and he really took to Marla in the way that idiotic men do, and he offered her a chance at a share. She couldn't afford it, but as a trade she offered the man a foot in the door at Heffner's stocks and ways went to ways and she ended up a millionaire.  
  
The newspaper man ended up even richer, but in her debut favor wise, so when a friend of hers got accused of some kind of crime and the newspapers began to cover his trial, she asked her newspaper man to work the propaganda angle and generate public sympathy for her criminal friend, who was rich, and eventually got off scott free and ~he~ ended up in her debut.  
  
The cycle continued in that manner until Marla was a billionaire with her nose in practically every important man's business-except the Syndicates. With all her connections, she became about as powerful herself as a Syndicate: capable of ruining someone's life, financially and through reputation, but she never killed people like a Syndicate would.  
  
She and practically every Syndicate out there had a mutual agreement to stay out of each other's way, and they had honored the agreement well.  
  
I call Marla my boss but I'm not and was never technically on any payroll. That's the way her personality is. She never technically hired me, but we met and she saw that I was useful. She calls me up and when she does I must drop everything I don't happen to be doing and get cracking on whatever she assigns me-so really I'm like a personal assistant. Not a secretary though; you don't call your secretary to drag your drunken ass out of a bar or pick you up at a random man's house after you've given him a one night stand.  
  
Marla was rich, but also extremely bored. And this is where Faye comes in. Like I said, I am a normal person, but normal isn't half as entertaining to a woman like my boss as Faye Valentine would be.  
  
And so Faye became Marla Hearst's new best friend (paid nicely, of course). Marla would drag her out practically everywhere, and she couldn't have been happier about finding a drinking buddy.  
  
Oh, I don't believe I almost forgot to write this-I'm going to have to skip back to that first night one more time. Back to the point after Faye, the doorman, and I hauled a completely wasted Mara into her bed.  
  
Faye would be staying with Marla for the time being. The invitation had always been open to me as well, but I didn't want to move out of my apartment. Like I said, Marla and I aren't friends and I have no desire to live with her despite all the luxuries of her penthouse which make me visit her often.  
  
I'd shown Faye to the guestroom and had been about to leave when she stuck her head out of the door and asked, "I forget, did we lay her on her back or her stomach?"  
  
I stared at her for a second, confused. "I don't remember."  
  
She stepped out of her new room and crossed the long hall. Wondering what she was up to, for I hadn't learned yet that Faye wasn't the type to explain the things she did, I followed her though the living area and over to Marla's wing.  
  
When we entered we found Marla on her back, sprawled across the bed, limp limbed and just how we'd left her: snoring like a bitch. Faye exhaled with an annoyed sound and told me to help her roll the woman over.  
  
"Why?" I asked, moving my boss's arms to her sides.  
  
"She's drunk; if she throws up she'll choke if she stays on her back," Faye explained. Looking back on that, despite all that I've learned about Faye since, I still can't be sure if she flipped Marla over out of consideration or just because she really needed the money. I'm positive it wasn't for both reasons.  
  
It was then that my boss woke up, grumbling and groaning and giggling from a night of overdoing it. She turned her glazed, color-contact-blue eyes on Faye and gave her a friendly slap on the arm, saying, "I'm gonna turn you into somethin' big, Val-en-tine. You work for me now, I'm gonna make you into something ~fascinating~." she broke off into more giggles before continuing.  
  
"You're the right type-I predict you'll be helpin' me out big time, Cowgirl, you're just the right type."  
  
I knew that Marla didn't think of me as that type, whatever she'd meant by that, but I really didn't care. Her standards are not mine; that's why, at that moment, I really thought myself ten times better than Faye.  
  
"I'm gonna turn you into somethin' ~great~," Marla went on, caught up in the sparkles of her own vision.  
  
Faye stared at her with a sarcastic contortion of the eyebrows over her narrowed green eyes. Her face just screamed: this is stupid, but those eyes were green as the money she wanted and they burned with ambition. I think that's why she didn't walk out then, even after the obvious display of Marla's lacking of sanity.  
  
"Soz remember dat! Val-en-tine." my boss commanded with another slap on Faye's arm. "You work fer me now, Val-en-tine--I'm gonna build a whole person up from scratch!" she began to laugh at the concept. "So from now on," Marla, limp wrested, pointed a finger at Valentine. "You're name's Gatsby."  
  
I wish I'd understood it at the time, how significant a name is. I see now that there was a definite difference between Faye Valentine and Faye Gatsby. Those times when I witnessed her struggle, especially after Spike showed up, were the times when a woman named Valentine clawed at the walls of her own spirit and begged and ordered to be let loose, only for Gatsby to choke down harder. Gatsby couldn't win though, thank Spiegel for that. It was what Spike had put her though-details everyone else seems to know more about than I do- that brought back Valentine in the end. ~  
  
Under Marla's business of favor exchange, Faye Valentine was momentarily forgotten, replaced by her new persona of Faye Gatsby.  
  
She was especially pleased with the money coming in. I did some back checking on her, the Valentine, and found out she had some major debts, but with her new income she'd started to pay them off. I asked her about them once and she said something which confused me:  
  
"I never tried to pay off my debts before because I didn't have a lot of money coming in and I figured it would be a waste if I used what little I had at the bank." I remember she looked kind of sad-in the eyes and in the slouch of the shoulders, but that was the only indication. "You see, if I spent all my money paying people what good would it really do me? I'd just be selling my soul to the debt collectors and never doing a thing for myself."  
  
"Well," I had replied, "once you were out of debt you could get your life back. That's what debt does, it steals your life."  
  
"Life!" she burst out laughing then, and even the recollection of that laugh makes me squirm a little. "I never had one-well that's wrong, I did. In fact, I had two!" she held up two fingers as if it helped her point. Come to think of it, she may have been drunk again. "I was killed in a pretty stupid way the first time, just an accident that could've happened to anyone but happened to me, and then the second time a man did it. Men really can kill you in all these new and inventive ways, and I don't even think he was trying."  
  
She finally stopped laughing and I hastily changed the subject to something else, I don't remember what. ~  
  
It was two days after that conversation when everything got its start. Faye and I were sitting at the art-deco table in Marla's penthouse playing poker-Faye thought it would help my personality if I learned the game-when my boss came running in looking incredibly pleased with herself.  
  
She flung her bags on the floor without a second thought-the bags were suitcases, for she'd spent the last two days visiting people all over Mars and had just returned-and forced our attention on a long package she carried, wrapped in brown paper.  
  
"You'll never guess what I just bought!" she cried, looking like she'd discovered the true meaning of Christmas really was toys.  
  
She slammed it down on top of our cards with an affirmative clang and gave us one of her proud smiles. "This is just about the coolest thing I've ever added to my collection," she told us, and by the tone in her voice she really believed it.  
  
And that's the way it started, with that package. Remember when I explained that Marla was obsessive? Well it was her obsession that started everything. Actually, it was one of her many obsessions: antiquing, as ridiculous as it sounds.  
  
Marla is obsessed with any kind of knickknack and bits of useless junk she can get her hands on; some might even call her a tomb raider. And she's not even the type to put her expensive artifacts in a glass case to look at- no--she's the type to ~use~ them.  
  
She untied the string around the paper with hands that shook more in personal excitement than anticipation of our opinion, and then tore the paper away with one sweep that ruined her manicure. Faye and I looked down and saw, lying in the fragments of wrapping, a sheathed sword.  
  
"Isn't it ~great~?" Marla pressed, lifting it up.  
  
Faye was staring at it oddly, one eye squinting as if the sword were far away and she required a telescope to see it. She stood up, and her chair clanged to the ground but she didn't seem to notice. She just kept staring at that weapon in Marla's hands with an odd kind of look.  
  
"It's nice," I told my boss. I didn't really know the proper way to compliment a sword.  
  
And then, all of a sudden, Faye's eyes widened and she jumped backwards quite a few feet. She looked indescribable-face a bit red, fists clenched, but with a glazed combination of fear, anger, sadness, and a whole miasma of other emotions in her bulging green eyes.  
  
"Marla!" she shouted as if my boss were her child who'd just gotten a tattoo. "Where the hell did you get ~that~ thing?!"  
  
Marla, not quite seeing that Faye was disturbed, continued to eye her new toy with immense satisfaction and interest. "It's not a thing, it's a katana," she snapped back indignantly, as if the sword might get insulted. "You know, like the samurai's used."  
  
Faye caught my eye and her expression seemed to ask me what the hell was wrong with the woman I worked for. I couldn't figure out why she reacted the way she did, since this wasn't even close to the strangest thing Marla had done, but she looked ready to flip nonetheless.  
  
Even now I don't understand the panic that had been in her eyes. Even when everything in her past came back to jump at her, even when Spike returned, I never saw that look again. I suppose it had something to do with the sword's former owner. I've head horror stories, and somehow I think Faye would have been more composed staring down the barrel of Hitler's handgun. I still don't understand the sword's former owner, the man she was so terrified of-it was the one person she was terrified of, I came to learn. All I know and can tell you now is that he is dead-supposedly the one good outcome of "that Lunkhead's stupidity" as Faye put it.  
  
Sorry, this is probably confusing you; I'll get back to where I was.  
  
All I could do was shrug at Faye and go back to staring at my boss.  
  
"I got it at a police auction," Marla continued to explain. "You know, where they ISSP unloads all the evidence after the trail." She'd been holding up the sheath to the light, inspecting the intricate carvings along its ridges, but then she snapped it back down by her chest and sent us that naughty grin of hers. "And guess where it's from-it's absolutely ~fascinating~ -you know, it's from a crime scene, guess which one."  
  
I shrugged again, and Faye gave no response save for her fingers trying to twitch themselves into a fist.  
  
"It's from the Dragon massacre," Marla announced proudly, holding it up. "Isn't that just fascinating? You know, Viv, the one I'm talking about? When some vigilante somehow killed half the Syndicate men in an office building that turned out to be their headquarters."  
  
"The Red Dragon Massacre," I stated matter-of-factly, knowing the story she was referring to.  
  
"Yes, that's right, the Dragon massacre." She continued to smile at the katana as if she'd found a holy grail made just for her. "Can you imagine the stories that must be behind this sword?"  
  
I didn't catch Faye's reaction to that, but looking back on it, I wish I had  
  
"Oh!" Marla suddenly cried as she remembered something. "And here's the best part-just look what's on the blade!" She unsheathed the sword, and most of it glimmered in the afternoon light with an amazing flash, as if the thing glowed with a light of its own. It was eerie. The one part that didn't shine was the tip of the katana, which was covered in red, dried blood.  
  
"Isn't it wonderful? Nobody's even messed with it!" Marla began swinging the weapon around, playing with it, trying it out for size. "I wonder who's it was-ISSP jackasses wouldn't tell me shit." she stopped swinging the sword and eyed the blood stain like she'd just noticed it. "And I wonder who's this is."  
  
For the first time Marla seemed to notice Faye's silence, and she looked up from her examination and rushed to the purple-haired woman. Faye took a step back, retreating more from the sword than from my boss I believe, and that shocked look she'd had had been replaced by an awful glare aimed at the katana and the one who held it.  
  
"Isn't neat?"  
  
Faye had regained her composure now, as I found she had an amazing ability to do. It was, I'd noticed after our game of cards, not unlike her poker face. But instead of some sly smile that foretold of an excellent hand, Faye merely stared with narrowed eyes and a cynical expression as if everything displeased her.  
  
"It's disgusting," she said.  
  
Marla wasn't thrown off in the slightest. "Oh come on, it's just a little blood," she chided, "Any leftover germs would be dead by now." Then she swung the weapon again and struck the one kendo pose she knew. "Besides, I think it adds character!"  
  
Faye rolled her eyes and made a noise that summed up her complete disgust with Marla and her toy, and with that, she stalked out.  
  
My boss pouted at the woman's opinion for maybe half a second before turning to me, leaning over the table and sticking her pointy nose in my face with a smirk. "Know what I'm gonna do?" she asked me, and even then I knew I wouldn't like it.  
  
I narrowed my eyes and humored her with my usual flatness. "What?"  
  
The smile widened and she held out the katana once more for my inspection, with emphasis on the bloody end. "I'm gonna run this through the DNA database-I wanna know who's this is."  
  
I raised an eyebrow, and made a quick glance over Marla's shoulder where I could see Faye standing in the hall. Her arms were crossed, and she frowned as if frowning gave her pain.  
  
"I think it'll be ~fascinating~."  
  
And that was how it started.  
  
~~  
  
Author's note-spiffy things! What is up with this? I know this fic is from the pov of an original character, but don't worry the story is about Faye and Spike and the other characters'll show up soon too! Well I thought it would be neat if I did this story from the point of view of a person who met the Bebop crew after all the Real Folk Blues events, so she doesn't start off knowing anything about them. I felt it would give the characters a fresh prospective if I wrote from the point of view of an objective third party. If you've read The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, you'll already be familiar with the storytelling method I'm using (thus the name of this fic and the usage of the name Gatsby) but THIS IS NOT A BEBOP VERSION OF THE NOVEL, this is a completely different story so just because you've read TGG that doesn't mean you know what happens in this fic :)  
  
Mkay, just in case this was confusing I'll just go over the finer points. In terms of timeline and storyline, Vivika Chen is telling a story about Faye and Spike (don't worry, Spike'll show up soon ^^) and the events she's talking about happened a year ago, and thus two years after ep. 26  
  
Lastly, if you're following my other CB fanfic: For Every Action don't worry, I'm still hard at work on it and another chapter will be posted story. I began this fic when I had writers block on my first one so I'll try to update both as often as possible.  
  
Please review! I know it's a weird kind of fic, but I was going for different and I'd like to know your opinions! 


	2. The Grave Next Door

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING   
The way this fic is narrated is different than the usual style. People seem to have gotten the hang of it well, but I've had a few complaints and I realize that I can be confusing at some times so here it is broken down as best as I can do.  
  
The story in this fanfic is being told by Vivika a year after the events occurred. The events occurred one year after real folk blues part 2, so to sum it up, Vivika is looking back from 2 years post series on what happened one year post series.   
Thus, from the narator's POV, everything in this story has already happened which is why it sometimes goes "I rember…" or "looking back on it…" or "if I had known what would happened next…" or something like that.   
Get it? If you don't, well, SORRY!  
  
Oh and BTW, I don't own Cowboy Bebop. If you thought I did, then that's just sad…   
2—The Grave Next Door  
  
The morning after Marla brought home that sword. Marla, Faye and I took breakfast at the bistro/coffee house across the street from Hearst's apartment building, and the day had started off generally rocky for those two.  
  
I'd been sitting our usual table, with an extra chair for Faye already waiting, when she and Marla entered, bearing their loud argument for all the café to hear.   
  
"Don't carry that thing around!" Faye insisted, referring to the katana Marla now sported with the sheath strapped across her back. "People will think you're crazy!"  
  
"So far, you're the only one," Marla retorted, and then she pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.   
Faye looked to me for help, but I knew better than to try and talk Marla out of something for it's just a waist of breath. And actually, to be honest, I couldn't bring myself to agree with Faye.   
  
Even in these times of guns in plain view in holsters, and hidden in guarders, and knives stored in boots or belts—these times when a sword ~should~ look ridiculous—Marla was able to pull it off: carrying that weapon around, I mean.   
  
I hate to say it, really I do, but that sword looked very natural across her shoulders. Even as she sauntered around this way and that, looking more unlike a warrior than one might think possible, it still seemed to me as if she'd always carried a katana. She had that kind of confidence.  
  
I think Faye noticed it too, how the sword attached itself to my boss, and it was probably for that reason that Faye grew to loathe Marla Hearst—and yet at the same time look at the woman as if she were a child needing to be disciplined. Faye grew very authoritative towards her from then on, although Marla hardly ever listened or noticed.   
  
"Well I don't care what you say—it's intriguing!" Marla went on as Faye slammed herself down into the chair between us, crossing her arms and legs. "Nobody ever caught the Dragon Slayer, nor do they know who he was, and here I am with an opportunity to find out and get into the history books—I'm not passing this up!" she proclaimed this with evident hubris, but I'm sure she really will end up in the textbooks one of these days. "It's too fascinating a mystery to just let go—classic who dun it. If this were I book I'd have skipped to the end by now."  
  
Knowing all too well the signs of my boss beginning a tangent, I leaned over to Faye and inquired, "Dragon Slayer?" so I'd at least understand what all the fuss was over.  
  
"The man who brought down the Red Dragons, single handed," Faye replied. Then, she added as if it were an afterthought: "supposedly."  
  
"…And there's just too much paperwork involved in searching the DNA library," Marla was saying. She'd unsheathed the sword once more and set it on the table, bloody end uncomfortably close to my scone, and Faye scooted her chair back a little. The katana attracted the sidelong, nervous glances from other café patrons and kept the little ditzy waitress from offering our table refills on our coffee. "And it's not like we can really know if the blood is the Slayer's, so I figure if we get started as soon as we're done eating, we'll be in Tharsis before lunch."  
  
Faye rolled her eyes at Marla and began to chew on a piece of French bread, still eyeing the sword; letting the blade's image imprint itself into her irises so she saw nothing else.   
  
"What's in Tharsis?" I asked, taking a bite of scone and talking with my mouth full.  
  
"The scene of the crime, duh," Marla smiled, but I couldn't tell if it was at me or the croissant she eyed. "Seems a good enough place to look."  
  
Faye and I exchanged looks and then turned our stare to Marla, who was chewing quietly while scanning the morning paper. Faye, eyes narrowed, decided to take her chances and inquired as to what my boss was looking for exactly.   
  
Marla grinned almost deviously. "The Red Dragons of course," she answered with that sly smile, and then returned her eyes to the paper ignoring our wide eyes and open mouths.   
  
I suppose I didn't truly comprehend at the time the magnitude of her proposal. If on that day, I'd known what the repercussions would be, what we would have to pay, I wouldn't have gone to Tharsis. On the other hand, if someone had walked into that café right then and told me what was to be my future, I wouldn't have believed it. I would have said I was too dull a person for that kind of a fortune.  
  
I didn't understand the danger of a Syndicate, for Marla had never associated with one before, and I suppose I must have, on some level, believed I was invincible.   
  
I've mentioned before that Marla has her hand in practically all of Martian business. Were she to fall, the stock market would join her on the ground, and it is also common knowledge that she does not have a will, so were she to die her death would cause a free-for-all on her money, stocks, deeds, and files.   
  
With that knowledge you can of course assume that it is in practically everyone's best interest that Marla stay alive (and happy, for she has the power for rather drastic revenge should she want it). So although I knew the violent tendencies of Syndicates, I felt secure in the knowledge that nobody would try to hurt my boss, and that the protection of her close acquaintance would keep us out of harm's way.  
  
It never even occurred to me that there were others who cared as little about repercussions as she did.  
  
Getting back to where I was, when Marla announced her plans to meet the Red Dragons my reaction was surprise. However, looking back on it after all the events resulting from her decision, my reaction ~should~ have been on a far greater scale.  
  
Faye's response was far more realistic. She understood the dangers of the Syndicates. I don't know how she knew, and in hindsight I don't want to know because it must have been horrible, but Faye ~knew~ you should never poke your nose around the mafia's business.   
  
She jumped up so fast it had her reaction to that katana beat, and she slammed her hands down on the table causing said sword to clang against the plates. "What do you—how can you possib—Marla—wha—WHAT THE HELL!?!?"  
  
Aside from wincing a little when Faye yelled, Marla's demeanor didn't falter. She piled Sweet and Low into her coffee, made a pyramid out of the creamers, and all the while explaining her plans as if she were planning a day at the beach.   
  
"Relax! I've got a plan…how are you on your current events?" my boss asked, and then when on before either Faye or I could reply. "Well if you've kept updated you do know that just meeting the Red Dragons is—"  
  
"Impossible," Faye bit out, righting her chair and slamming herself back in it.   
  
"Exactly."  
  
I normally keep up pretty well with current events, but Syndicate news isn't my forte. "Why's that?" I had to ask.   
  
Her reply sounded distracted for Marla, having run out of Sweet and Low, seemed to have reached a crossroads as to whether or not to destroy the creamer pyramid for coffee's sake. "Well you know, last year some kind of coup d'état happened in the Red Dragons and no sooner does that happen then Mr. Dragon Slayer comes along and ousts the new guy along with a building full of his people, and faster than you can say 'Bang'," she slammed her hand on the table for effect, "the Dragons split."  
  
I frowned, unable to see where this was going. "Well if they dissolved—"  
  
"No," Faye corrected me, "she doesn't mean split as in left, she means split in two."  
  
"Shaas rii," Marla confirmed with a mouth full of croissant which she swallowed before going on. "That guy who did the coup—well there were a lot of people loyal to him and they got themselves a new leader and are still at large."  
  
Faye nodded slightly, her eyes on the sword yet again. "They changed their name to the Gold Serpent Circle."  
  
"What about the ones who didn't want that new guy leader?" I asked. "The ones that supported what the Dragon Slayer did?"   
  
Faye's face was still directed at the katana, but her eyes had shifted to me and she frowned in a way that made me feel like a child.   
  
Marla answered for her. "Disappeared," she prompted, popping the last piece of pastry into her mouth. "They're in hiding—gaining power but laying low until they have enough of it."  
  
"I see…" I said, but I didn't really see. I was completely blind. "So how are you going to meet with them?"  
  
Faye looked to Marla as I asked this, apparently just as curious. My boss merely shrugged and said, "Well I figure I'll pay a visit to the Circle first and see where my connections take me." She took a sip of her coffee-with-attitude and made a face. "But what I'm after most right now is some names…"   
  
Then she stood up, lifting the katana from the tabletop and returning it to its sheath across her back. "Well come on! No time like the present!" and with that, she bounced out the door, Faye not far behind, and I in reluctant chase.   
  
~~  
  
Trimalchio, where we were, is only an hour or so from Tharsis by car and ten minutes by zipcraft. Marla chose the car, and I won't talk about the ride over except that road trips with Marla Hearst almost always include her singing "Toucha-Toucha-Toucha-Touch Me" from something called The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and me being paid 500 woolongs to sing the boy's part of "Summer Nights" from Grease.   
Nuff said.  
  
"Jerry, hi—what are you doing right this second?" while we drove around Tharsis in the lunchtime traffic, Marla called up some lawyer friend, which was her Tharsis contact for information on some of the more seedy aspects of the city. "Well your salad's not gonna get any colder so gimme five minutes, kay hun?"  
  
They conversed for awhile, Marla making her inquiries and if I know Jerry he beat around the bush as long as humanly possible before telling her to go to the Standard Oil Company of Mars's downtown office where she could talk to somebody named Byres.   
  
"Oh keep your 'Be Careful's-- I'll be fine!" my boss insisted with a smile. "Thanks a bunch I'll—Vivika, turn left at that light—I'll see you at Harry's party, buh-bye Jer."  
  
~~  
  
Everybody has a little bit of a masochist in them. It's that thing inside you that makes you break your diet for the love of chocolate, it makes you eat steak after a heart attack, it makes smoke cigarettes and it makes you buy lottery tickets.   
It even makes you walk into a building full of men with guns controlled by a competitive sect of the Chinese Mafia.  
  
Okay, so that last one didn't really fit in with the rest, but be that as it may there we were: standing outside the Standard Oil office feeding the meter.  
  
When we walked into the lobby of the building, I felt eyes on us. It was sort of like that ancient Earth television show, So-and-So's Angels (I can't remember the guy's name; it may have been Charlie). The way the three of us walked in almost a coordinated fashion, high heels and flattering clothes, but it was probably the knowledge that we could and were walking into a building belonging to powerful people that added an egotistical boost to our strides.   
  
I'm sure I didn't look as impressive as Marla, or especially Faye. I genuinely admired the way Faye carried herself: with confidence, power, and a warning of danger yet still holding onto a playfulness so she wasn't completely stand-offish.   
I remember watching her walk and thinking: so this is how the women of the worlds get everything they want.  
  
Marla didn't need to look so commanding, for she was already overflowing with confidence for the one pure reason she knew she'd walk out satisfied.   
I don't know how I looked exactly. Probably like a secretary or a librarian or something, but I was feeling rather good about myself right then so I'm sure I wasn't completely hunched over or anything. At any rate, it's not important.  
  
My boss walked up to the receptionist's desk and leaned over the counter, Faye and I on either side of her as if we were there for backup like some odd prison gang. The young receptionist looked up and smiled pleasantly at us, and one could tell by the genuineness of the act that she'd only just recently been hired.   
"Hello ladies, how may I help you today?" she asked good naturedly.  
  
"I'd like to see Mr. Byres," said Marla, smiling that upper-hand smile with no partition of the lips. The receptionist looked confused, and I can see why. Anybody important enough to have meetings with important people usually already knows where to find them, and doesn't need to ask a receptionist.   
  
"I-Ah, yes…do you have an appointment, Ms….?"  
  
"Hearst, and no I don't." She was still smiling. So was Faye, with a similar kind of smirk, seeming to find it entertaining.  
  
I didn't mention this earlier, but when we walked in there were two men in dark casual suits conversing near the counter. When we approached they looked up to stare at us. At first I thought it was because we were a group of non-ugly women, Faye and Marla having their beauty and me having been told I'm cute, but one of those guys looked rather suspicious of us (the other one just looked horny).  
  
However, as soon as Marla said her name, the men's eyes widened in a funny flash of recognition I've seen numerous times. As soon as the receptionist started to explain to my boss that she needed an appointment, one man rushed up with a gigantic fake smile and interrupted her.  
  
"Ms. Hearst!" he exclaimed as if he'd known her ages ago, like one might shout at old acquaintances seen at a reunions. Marla's smile didn't change, and Faye's grew wider, for both had seen something like this coming and I'll admit I'd seen it too. "I'm afraid Barbara just hasn't gotten the swing of things around here—terribly sorry for the mix up—I'll take you to see Mr. Byres immediately," he turned to the perverted-looking fellow he'd been conversing with. "Gill, could you remind Barbara about our company policy?"  
  
We were ushered into an elevator, but before the doors closed I heard the start of that other man's speech to the confused receptionist. A speech that began with a line I heard often when I went places with Marla: "Don't you know who that woman is?!"   
  
~~~  
  
While we walked down the hall to Byres's office, I couldn't help but lean over to Faye and ask, "So who is this guy, anyway?"  
  
Faye looked over to that man who was escorting us, a Mr. Something-that-begins-with-a-K, who was rambling on about the history of the company. "Him? He's probably some lower Syndicate agent they stick out for PR."  
  
"No," I whispered back, hoping Mr. K couldn't talk and eavesdrop at the same time. "This Byres guy, what is he, the leader of the Serpent Circle or something?"   
  
Faye's face grew serious in a flash, but she shook her head. "Doubt it. I don't think even Marla can just barge in and get audience with a Syndicate leader."  
I was honestly surprised by this statement, and I probably looked it for Faye went on, catching my arm and forcing my pace to slow with hers.   
  
"Syndicate leaders are the type of men you don't just see," she told me. Her eyes were forceful, as if she found it very important that I understood what she had to say. "If they want you, they'll find you. They'll ~get~ you. It's that simple, and for them, it's that easy."  
  
I didn't like that look in her eyes. There was something on fire beneath the pupils, burning enough to make me return to my original topic for mere want of a subject change. "So who's Byres then?" I asked.  
  
Faye shrugged, and to my relief turned away from me to face foreword again and return her normal pace. "He's obviously got some power in the Circle, so he could be part of the leader's team—you know, somebody he trusts to run things."  
  
"Ah," I said, and nodded. What else could I say or do?  
  
When we met Byres, he was just coming out of his office. He was around Faye's height, blond, and with a face swollen from all the fake smiling he had to put himself though. I could tell he hadn't been trained to be a businessman, just from that odd off-green suit he wore. He looked to be the type who used to work out, and my best guess was that his job used to be more physical before the change of power when the Red Dragons broke.   
  
He looked annoyed to see unplanned visitors, and our guide had to introduce us quickly before he might try and shoo Marla away.   
  
"This is Ms. Gatsby, Ms. Chen, and," I watched K catch Byres's eye, "Of course you know Ms. Marla Hearst from Trimalchio." Mr. Byres's face changed all at once and we were invited into his office with all sorts of pleasantness.   
  
The first sign of danger happened here, but I didn't realize it at the time. Marla walked in first, and sat primly on the black leather sofa, helping herself to the coffee on the table. I followed close behind and made for the seat next to my boss, turning my head to look back as I sat down.  
  
I saw Faye stalk coolly through the door-- eyes nearly all the way closed, cigarette dangling from her lips, hands relaxed against her hips, and wearing a supermodel type 'let's get this over with' kind of expression.   
And Byres was staring at her.  
  
It was only for a moment, but it wasn't the kind of stare men usually give woman like Faye. This stare wasn't perverse or admiring, this stare glinted with hateful recognition. Byres's eyes widened as she passed by, as if she'd done something to surprise him, and then his eyebrows furrowed and he squinted, glaring coldly.   
  
By the time Marla said, "I'm glad I could reach you," the expression was gone—replaced by the face of a businessman. I merely pegged him for a woman hater and pushed the look to the back of my mind.   
  
Mr. Byres walked over to the chair across from my boss, his cane tapping along with each stride. I noticed the slight limp he had, meaning that he needed the cane and it wasn't just some ridiculous show for a wannabe tycoon.   
  
"This is certainly unexpected," he said, taking his seat. "But not unwelcome. Our Tharsis office as well as our Ganymede branch have hoped to get into the Trimalchio market for a long time since you run it so smoothly—I can assume, of course, that this is a business visit?"  
  
Marla's smile widened, but it kept its cool confidence. Sly. She had a whole deck of trump cards to pull and she'd bring them out of her sleeve one by one. Like Faye used to tell me: 'They can't say you're cheating when you're making up the rules'.  
  
"Of course it's business," she assured him. "I would never just pop in to visit someone I never met before." That was a lie, but I don't think she realized it.   
"But before we get into all this negotiating crap—mind if I take off my jacket? Thanks—I was just hoping to have a little chat with you."   
  
I saw what she was doing, and I noticed Faye shift in her chair as she saw it as well. My boss had just started to take control. And now the jacket was coming off—the long coat which had hidden that conspicuous sword we all came here regarding.   
  
"A chat?" Byres repeated, holding his grin but anyone could tell he suspected her of something. "What about?"  
  
"Oh…the weather," Marla lifted the sheath's strap over her head, bringing Byres's attention to the katana. "Sports…" she stood up, and in one fluid motion unsheathed the gleaming blade and thrust it into the coffee table. "And a mutual friend of ours."  
  
We all caught that flash of shock, and possibly panic, in the Syndicate businessman's face in those few seconds it took the splinters from the ruined table to settle. And then he was composed again as he looked up at Marla. I recognized the look: he was trying to guess her game plan, which nobody has ever done for the reason I believe to be that she makes it up on the spot.   
  
My boss leaned on the sword's hilt, smiling her smile and meeting Byres eye for eye. I had drawn back from her, for although I'd expected some kind of show from her I hadn't expected this. Faye too looked caught off guard. She'd stood up as soon as the blade was exposed, and her hand thrust into her pocket where her gun lay. Byres's bodyguards had drawn their pistols already; they stood awaiting a reason to shoot. At the time this was the most danger I'd ever been in, and I was terrified. Now I laugh at the woman I was, for I saw so much worse after I walked out of that office.   
  
Byres and Marla appeared to be having a staring contest. I'm sure neither blinked. It reminded me of an old western or samurai flick, where the opponents just stare for minutes on end, seizing each other up.   
  
I wondered if he would believe she actually knew the sword's former owner—obviously she knew the weapon carried some weight, and now she was testing how much. In the silence, I waited for Byres to call her bluff and ask her to prove that they shared a 'mutual friend' they could relate to that katana.  
  
But when Mr. Byres finally did speak, it was only to ask in a voice smoothly stating his wish to talk with Ms. Hearst in private.   
  
Faye, who had yet to sit down and remove her hand from her concealed weapon, sent Marla a warning frown, but my boss paid no attention to the disapproval and instead turned to me. "That's no problem; you guys can get some lunch, just be back in an hour or so."  
  
Stupefied and numb, all I could really say was: "Sure, what do you want?"  
  
"I'm thinking Thai food. Something spicy."  
  
And with those instructions, Faye and I left Marla with the Syndicate man, armed with a bloody katana many times more threatening than even her influence.   
  
~~  
  
Faye waited until we got to the car to start screaming. She then waited until the car rounded the corner before adding angry, animated gestures to her rant. Luckily she sat on the passenger side, else we might have crashed for all she really cared about her surroundings.  
"I DON'T BELIEVE THAT FUCKING IDIOT!"  
  
"Uh-huh," was all I could say. There'd been an accident on the road we were driving down and I had to concentrate on not hitting the cop redirecting traffic or the tow truck right next to him.   
  
My lack of attention didn't seem to bother Faye. I remember her as the type who'd probably, it seemed to me, yell about what bothered her even if there was nobody there to listen, and I had a feeling that my being there as a sounding board only made her want to vent more.  
  
"Has she ever done something like this before?" she asked me.  
  
"What, like taking control of meetings in scary, weird ways? Sure, often."  
  
"I mean on this level…"  
  
"The Syndicate level?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I pursed my lips, running all the odd scenarios my boss had created through my mind. "Nothing on this level, no," I finally answered. "But all her ideas that seem crazy at the time either end up doing no harm at all or making her a few millions, so don't worry about it."   
  
I tried to reassure Faye that it would all end up all right. To tell you the truth, I'd been scared that she'd leave. She wasn't the first woman Marla had picked up off some random place to befriend and drag around in our odd little posse. She wasn't the first, and I'm sure she won't be the last. All the others had run off in fear of the crazy schemes my boss would come up with and what trouble they might bring.  
  
Frankly, I was lonely, and Faye seemed to be the most resilient of Marla's alternating favorites so I'd hoped she would stick around for a while.   
  
"She doesn't know what she got herself into…" Faye was murmuring, almost if not probably more to herself than to me. "Has to pretend that she knew that man…that she was friends with him…nobody's going to believe her, she'll get herself killed and probably me too."  
  
Meanwhile, I'd spotted a Thai place out of the corner of my eye. "Friends with who?" I asked offhandedly. I actually hadn't been that curious, just making conversation and all. It hadn't struck me then that Faye knew more than she was letting on, but by the time I found out it was well too late. "That sword guy Marla's pretending to know? Don't sweat it, she's a good faker—do you even like Thai food? Personally I'm getting pizza at that place next door--" but when I opened the car door to step out, Faye suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me back.  
  
"You don't get it do you?" she asked me seriously. I'm not used to being asked serious questions, since the person I interact most with is my boss, and this vague inquiry threw me off more than slightly.   
  
"What?" I asked, feeling it would be best to play innocent. I thought: maybe she'll let me go if I act stupid; I don't want to deal with whatever is making her look so troubled.   
But I was worried. Faye had far more life experience than I did, and she obviously sensed some danger in Marla's haphazard antics, and so I was worried.  
  
Her grip on my arm tightened. "The Circle—Fuck, ~any~ Syndicate, just pick one! It's too dangerous to get involved in, especially voluntarily."  
  
I didn't know what to say to her. "I-I'm sure it'll be all right," I rambled. "I mean, Marla's rich and all so if worse comes to worse she can bribe them to leave us alone."  
  
Faye's mouth opened and closed, eyes squinted open and shut, and she removed her hand from my arm only to slap her forehead with it in frustration. "Never mind," she breathed, drained now of her normal enthusiasm. She opened the door and stepped out of the car. "I need some air," was the only explanation she gave me when she began to stride quickly down the sidewalk.  
  
"Want me to order you anything?" I called out to her, jutting a thumb at the restaurants I stood in front of.   
  
"Surprise me," she shouted back, and rounded the corner out of sight.  
  
~~  
  
I ordered the food and asked to have it ready in a half hour, figuring in meantime I could track down Faye and we could eat before having to go back to pick up Marla. However, the finding Faye portion of my plan was easier said than done.  
  
I turned the corner that she'd turned and saw no sign of her. I'd assumed she'd been to Tharsis before (who hasn't?) and probably had some goal in mind as to where she wanted to end up. So I did that thing that people do when they're looking for someone or something and I asked myself, "If I were Faye, where would I go?"  
  
Of course, I didn't know the answer to that. I didn't know Faye very well at all. I knew that her past must have been a horribly interesting one, which was why I didn't ask about it, especially after her comments about "dying twice" and things like that. I knew she liked gambling, and I knew she liked to drink. That was the extent of my knowledge of Faye Valentine/Gatsby at that time.  
  
And based on that, the very last place I expected to see her was at church.   
  
It's not how it sounds.   
  
I was walking towards a karaoke bar, not sure if that was Faye's thing or not but noticing its large 'liquor' sign, and on the way I passed the most decrepit building I'd ever laid my eyes on. (It's actually quite a sight. I recommend taking a look next time you're in the area, it's on the corner of Broadway and Maine, East Tharsis.)  
  
It was a chapel, or more likely the remains of one. The spire of a belfry—built for show, because no church uses actual bells anymore—and a roofless group of walls were all that remained of what was probably once a very nice gothic-style cathedral.  
  
I'd stopped short on the street in front of it, merely to admire the sheer eeriness that was the building. The church ruins looked grey and dead, as if God had never blessed the place even in its prime, and yet the mere sight of the shattered and half-shattered stained glass drew me in to look closer at the only spots of color left on that piece of property.  
  
I'd rounded to the back of the chapel before I'd even become aware of myself. My neck had been crammed back the whole time I'd been walking, staring up and trying to see if anything still lay in that tower. When I finally brought my eyes back to earth, I realized I'd wondered into the graveyard behind the building.   
  
The cemetery looked in far better shape than the cathedral. I guessed the local disenfranchised buried their dead in this place, to judge by the number of newer wooden cross-set stakes compared to the older, and few newer, marble tombstones.   
It was rather sad—and I mean sadder than a graveyard usually is.   
  
I turned right, then spun left, making a complete rotation before I really got my bearings and even then was only half sure which way the street was from there. I'd just been about to pick a random direction and hope it lead me back to where I was, when I saw Faye.   
  
I remember her as a black spot against the decaying brown of the graveyard. She was crouched low while balancing on her heels, her long dark coat in folds around her knees. She sat in that position very still and quiet, her eyes perfectly level with name etched into the headstone she faced.  
  
Finally, with a slight shake of her head, she stood up and brushed herself off. That was when I chose to approach her.  
  
"Faye!" I called, probably a little too loudly for a place where one should be reverent.   
Her head shot up as if I'd surprised her, but she showed little reaction other than that.   
"I didn't expect to see you here," I noted cheerily as possible, considering the setting, and jogged up to where she stood silently watching me, expressionless.   
  
I suddenly felt very aware of how tactless I must have seemed. I mean, you don't just run up, shouting to people in a cemetery of all places. Afraid that Marla had rubbed off on me too much, I attempted a hurried apology.   
"I-I'm sorry," I slurred the words together in a rush. "I didn't mean to interrupt you if while you were paying respects or—"  
  
"I was looking for someone."   
  
It's hard to describe it, the way Faye was when she said that sentence. Her face set still quietly stern, but with little expression and no emotion, not even in those green eyes of hers that were usually on fire. Her voice was quiet too, and very…I suppose nostalgic is the only word.  
  
"Oh, you couldn't find the right grave?" I asked, taking her meaning incorrectly. "Want me to help you look?"  
  
She looked over at me and gave an attempt at a small smile. Then she took a step foreword and pointed at one of the headstones. "Mao Yenrai," she said, reading off the name.   
  
"Friend of yours?" I asked, but she shook her head.  
  
"I was at his funeral....in a manner of speaking…" she replied quietly. Then, louder and facing me she asked, "Do you know who he was?"  
  
This I was the one to shake my head.   
  
"He used to be the leader of the Red Dragon Syndicate."  
  
I was only minorly surprised by this news, for at the time Syndicates still meant so little to me. But nevertheless, my eyes strayed to the dates of his birth and death, and although he hadn't been young, I noticed that he hadn't been old enough to have died a natural death.   
I began to shift from one foot to the other uncomfortably, as Faye took a few more steps.  
  
She walked up to the tombstone next to Mao's, a lovely polished piece of granite, and tapped the top with a creamy white finger. "He should be right here," she said to the air. "Next to her."  
  
"The person you're looking for?"   
  
She nodded.  
I moved so I was behind Faye to see what she saw. The headstone she tapped belonged to a woman I never learned enough about to satisfy me. I heard her mentioned many times, and she seemed so interesting a topic for all the events she apparently effected, but she's not the type of person you just bring up in a conversation. She the type you're not supposed to talk about, but want to. The name was kind of taboo, as if it would set off a bomb when uttered—you had to whisper it, and never say it in a hateful tone.   
  
But I didn't know that at the time. At the time, it was just a name to me. The name of a woman I'd never met but whose life—or more likely the aftermath of her life and death--would soon effect my own even while she lay in her coffin.  
  
"Julia Buchanan?" I read aloud. "Was she in the Red Dragons too?" I looked at the dates of her birth and death. She'd died far too young.  
  
Faye shrugged. "I don't know who she was exactly…" she tapped the headstone again, and then moved away from it as if she'd done something to be ashamed of.   
  
"He should be right here," she repeated softly. It was then that I noticed there was a large space, an empty plot, between Julia and Mao. "Next to her."   
  
"Maybe you're remembering it wrong," I offered.  
  
Faye shook her head quickly, dismissing me. "I haven't been here before."  
  
"Then how do you know…" I allowed myself to trail off there, knowing that it didn't matter if I finished the thought or not. Faye was trapped inside herself for the time being. She allowed her voice to travel in my direction, probably so she wouldn't feel crazy for talking to herself, but in truth her eyes saw only the dry earth under which a coffin should but didn't lie.   
  
She focused on that empty spot where a grave marker should be, and that fire began to return to her eyes. It glowed like a spark might; a spark with ambition, but a spark nonetheless. Sorrow, anger, that nostalgia—the emotions showed, but just barely, for she tried so hard to look indifferent and mostly succeeded.  
  
"If he's not here…" Faye spoke again. "Then I don't know where to find him." There was a pause. "Unless he didn't…" she trailed off and I watched her fists clench until the knuckles turned white.   
"Bastard," she suddenly hissed so quietly that I barely heard it. "Just like you to disappear. Fine. Hide in the ground; I don't care where you're really lying, here is where I say goodbye." I'm sure I hadn't been meant to hear that, but hear it I did, and I thought of if constantly after meeting Spike Spiegel.  
  
Then she turned on her heel, back to the empty plot and stalked off in a quick walk. She grabbed my arm as she passed me and I could barely keep up with her steps. I felt like a child being led off by an overstressed soccer mom, and it probably looked rather embarrassing, but at the time I didn't mind being led off like that for all I really wanted was to get out of that cemetery.  
  
~~  
  
When we reached the main road, headed in the direction of the Thai restaurant and pizzeria, my comm. rang. It was Marla, and she once again sounded extremely excited although I'd assumed it was for some unjustifiable reason.  
  
"Viv! Faye!" she called, her face tiny on the vidscreen. I said hi and Faye leaned over my shoulder and into the camera's view. My boss had a wide, 'I told you so' kind of smile that I didn't like but felt curious about.   
  
"I did it!" proclaimed Marla Hearst. "I got the name—oh and you'll never guess all I've found out!"  
  
"What did you find out?" I asked to humor her. Obviously her meeting was over, and I still had to get the food. I'd figured that if I could keep her talking long enough, hopefully she wouldn't rush me about getting lunch. Okay and I'll admit it. I was a little curious too.  
  
"Well first off, that sword. I found out who it belonged to."  
  
"Good for you," grumbled Faye with no enthusiasm whatsoever.   
  
"Vicious!" Marla cried, and I told her not to call people names. "No, I wasn't saying Faye's vicious—that's the guy's name! The katana fellow; and did you know? He was the guy—THE guy who did that final takeover of the Red Dragons before the slayer killed him!"  
  
She sounded so excited, and I'll admit it was an interesting bit of news that would come in handy later, but at the time all I was really wondering was why a mother would name their child Vicious. Then of course I figured a parent wouldn't do that and I began to wonder how bad a name had to be to want to change it to Vicious.   
They were all very unimportant thoughts I won't go any further describing.  
  
"How'd you get this information?" Faye asked, interrupting Marla's gushing over her precious sword and my idiot private musings.   
  
My boss waved her hand nonchalantly. "Just some insider trading, bond selling and all, no biggie," she explained. "Standard Oil wanted some shares in that Tritanium mill I bought last year, so I shifted some stuff around for them. Byres was very agreeable once I brought out the credit card."  
  
"Were you able to keep up the ruse?" Faye demanded. "Does he still believe you and Vicious were 'mutual friends', or whatever?"  
  
"Sure, sure," my boss returned with the same hand wave as before. "I got him to believe that I was making business deals with Vicious before the Dragons split, and that all I wanted was to finish out the agreement. Safe as pie, you didn't have to worry about a little white lie—oops, that shouldn't have rhymed, probably sounded corny." And with that, she began to giggle at her own expense. But then she stopped, and that overly proud smile returned.  
  
"And you know what else I got?" Marla asked us in that way that meant we weren't really supposed to guess. "I got the slayer's name: Spike Spiegel."  
  
Faye's bottom lip disappeared under her top row of teeth for a moment as she made a miffed sort of noise. "Spike Spiegel," she reiterated. "And who is he?"  
  
My boss frowned, "The DRAGONSLAYER, I just said so!" she huffed, but the smile came back in a mere fraction of a second. "I haven't had time to do much checking yet, but this dude is famous in the more notorious circles. On our neck of the woods however, he was a Cowboy."  
  
"A bounty hunter?" I asked, because even though I don't think there are actual cowboys left you can never really be sure.   
  
"Yeah, bounty hunter," Marla confirmed. "Anyway, we find him, we find answers."  
  
Faye and I exchanged glances. "What are the questions?" we asked at once.   
  
Hearst blinked a couple times, surprised we all weren't thinking on the same wavelength. "Why, I want do know about the battle of course!" she held up the katana so Faye and I could see it on the little screen. "I still have to check the DNA database and see if the bloodstain's actually this Spiegel's—I mean, for all we know Vicious coulda just gone around hitting people randomly, but I'm hoping it's something more interesting."  
  
One of Faye's eyebrows twitched dramatically, and she continued to frown in such a way that her failing attempt at composure was obvious and rather funny.   
"More interesting?" she repeated. "How's that?"  
  
"Well—a duel of course!" Marla announced as if it were obvious.  
  
It didn't look good for Faye's self control, so I took the next 'question you'll regret asking later'. And that question was: "What makes you think there as a duel?"  
  
Marla was sheathing the sword again. It was out of view of the screen but I could hear its awful metallic ring. "Well how does one person—ONE person—bring down a crime ring? I mean, there were probably a lot of people he had to take down, why would he do that all by himself?"  
  
"Maybe he was stupid," Faye offered in a bitter voice.  
  
"Well fine, maybe Spiegel was stupid, but I've got other theories." She didn't wait for me to ask, she just kept talking. "Such as this: I think that Vicious was very important in keeping the Red Dragons together, I mean, why else would they split after he died? So I'm thinking that this Spike person, if he really wants to take down the Red Dragons and he doesn't have any backup—"  
  
"What if he didn't want backup?" Faye interrupted. "Men can be stubborn asses, you know."  
  
Marla let out a laugh. "Too true!" she cried. "But there's a fine line between stubborn and suicidal."  
  
"A ~very~ fine line," Faye muttered, but my boss didn't hear.  
  
"So my theory is that if he's got as much brains as a dog he at least knows he can't take down the whole organization by himself—so he goes for the guy in charge," Marla finally wound down her explanation. "You know, like a duel to the death."  
  
Faye rolled her eyes and sent me a look.   
"But didn't the Dragon slayer die too?" I reminded my boss. "I mean, it can happen, but both people usually don't die in a duel."   
  
Marla shrugged. "The Gold Serpent Circle seems to think Spiegel is alive," she said matter-o-factly. "They're looking for him."  
  
I looked up at Faye, but she rather scared me right then so I turned back to my boss and asked, "If a Syndicate can't find the guy who must be on the top of their most wanted list, what makes you think you can?"  
  
Smiling her businesswoman smile, Marla said, "I've got a plan," and I distinctly remember thinking: Aw shit.  
  
But she did have a plan. A good plan—well, good in the fact that it was effective, but horrible in the way that if backfired. Marla may have wanted to find out more about Spike Spiegel, but I had had no interest. Still, whether I wanted to or not, in less than an hour from the time my boss hung up I would meet the man that ultimately sent Faye and I from hell to heaven and back to earth completely lost.   
  
Not all the pieces of the puzzle that was Spike, Faye, the Syndicates and the Bebop fit together at once for I never, until the end, had all the pieces in my hands. Still, our adventure began there, on that street corner in front of the chapel ruins.  
  
A large, black car rounded the corner with a screech and before I'd seen a thing Faye grabbed my arm and pulled me down. Before the word "Duck!" was out of her lips, a round of bullets flew over where our heads had been.   
  
And with that, I was shoved out of my world and forced into the world that Faye and Spike begrudgedly called home.   
  
~~  
Gah, this chapter was so…political… and LONG dammit—sorry bout that, it had to be what it had to be. I looked for stuff to cut out, but what wasn't important to the plot was important to the characterization, and what wasn't important to the characterization was something hopefully amusing enough to help people bare with the political stuff. It's a vicious circle you see, no CB character pun intended.   
  
It so happens to be a problem of mine that I can't bring myself to say "and one thing led to another and they ended up at [insert setting here]" I just can't do that! I have to go for the how and the why and I know it takes up more pages but it would have very much bothered me if they'd gotten Spike's name from a random person who just happens to be there or something so easy.   
This chapter was pretty much about plot presentation, but I made sure to ad character development scenes. I want this story to be more emotionally directed, but I want there to be a plot as well because a persons actions are relative to their situation, and I plan on writing in some interesting (hopefully) situations. So bare with me on a boring chapter like this, you'll see later on that it was necessary.  
  
On a higher note, SPIKE IS IN THE NEXT CHAPTER-YAY!! All the cast is gonna show up eventually, but Spike comes first of course. And on more good news, once Spike shows up I can finally fading Marla back into the role of secondary character (she's important to the plot line and all, but nobody really cares—a lot of people hate her actually)  
  
IF YOU WERE CONFUSED ABOUT THIS CHAPTER  
Ok so the ending to this chapter was a little cryptic on some level I suppose. Remember, all of these events have already happened and Vivika is just recounting them. I wrote a longer notice about this at the top. Basically at the end of this chapter a car rounded the corner and somebody started shooting at Vivika and Faye.   
  
Anywho, this author's note has gone on for WAY too long so I'll leave you alone and please review! 


	3. They Called Him Notorious

Hey all! So so sorry this update took so long, it was actually supposed to appear back in June, but here's what happened:  
  
I had the whole chapter planned out perfectly, but I didn't have time to complete it. It was the night before I left for the airport to spend a month in Spain, so I was writing as fast as I could but I kept having to stop and pack my clothes, and do laundry, and upload my entire mp3 library into my mini disk player.  
  
Suffice it to say, I ran out of time even though I stayed up all night. The airport and rush hour traffic will not be stalled for the sake of a fanfic. So after I got back from Spain, I pulled out the fic and tried to complete the chapter. Unfortunately I had long lost my train of thought with that whole month off, and I couldn't rember what I wanted the characters to say.  
  
It was a big problem for me, because I am a perfectionist. I know how the story is going to go from start to finish, so I knew what had to happen in the chapter, but I couldn't remember how I wanted to get the words down. Everything I came up with just wasn't as good as the way I had planned it, but unfortunately could not remember.  
  
So here it is, I did my best and I'm glad it's finally out because I'm proud of the results and I hope you will enjoy it too.  
  
Once again I'm sorry for the long delay, but don't worry the next chapter is already half written and will be up soon.  
  
3-They Called Him Notorious  
  
People were firing at us.  
  
There were gunshots, many of them, and each one sounded like something I could have mistook for a car backfire, had I not been too frightened for delusions.  
  
I looked up and saw a lot of black. The black hulk of the car Faye and I crouched behind, shielding us from the entourage of bullets. The black of the other car which had screeched round the bend with men in black suits hanging out the windows with rifles and revolvers pointed at us. The blackness of Faye.her long black coat from which she produced a shining black gun. She aimed it at the suited men and I jerked with each boom of close thunder. My hair was clinging to my face, getting in my eyes, causing me to see yet another shade of black-a souvenir of my Chinese heritage, although the homeland has long been flattened by fragments of the moon.  
  
I kept seeing black, as if the shadows were reaching out to grab me. To kill me. People were shooting.shooting at me. I knew that had to be wrong.  
  
It seemed too frighteningly surreal-the way I had my back pressed against the car, paralyzed, and praying to God. And when I looked over at Faye to see her completely unafraid, shooting back at those men with such determination, so unfazed-I had a sudden, strange impression that a demon was next to me.  
  
A black clad demon with a shining weapon-a woman, just as they say the devil will be. That old cinematic expression, 'fade to black' ran though my head, and along with it a little chant:  
  
Gonnadiegonnadiegonnadiegonnadie  
  
And finally, the initial shock of the assassination-attempt-in-progress beginning to wear off and free my muscles, I screamed. I screamed for help, I screamed for the police (because ISSP is too many syllables when you're panicked), I screamed for God, I screamed for anyone who would listen, and I screamed in pain as Faye slapped me across the face and told me that I wasn't helping matters by freaking out.  
  
"I'm gonna fucking die!" I screeched at her, and I heard my voice crack hoarsely like some preteen boy.  
  
"Oh, shut up," she snapped, and I heard a similar snap as she reloaded the clip on her gun. Without another glance in my direction, she began to shoot again, then dive back and press her back against the car door as the return volley came.  
  
"They've parked, five of them-two still in the car," Faye was belting out statistics; so-and-so is at four-o-clock taking cover behind a dumpster, Mr. Ugly-friend-of-first-guy using his car trunk as a shield. Tall-bald- man looks like he's gonna charge at us, hit him but he keeps on moving, bullet proof vests-clip's out--better get ready to run, Vivika.  
  
Run? Run where? Run to what? Run out into the open where I'm bound to be shot? "I can't!"  
  
She grabbed my arm and yanked it forcefully. "You're gonna."  
  
"I can't, I can't!" I continued to protest as she pulled me into a crouch near the hood of our covercar.  
  
"When I say to," she commanded in a low voice near my ear, "run forward- fast as you can, zig-zaging a little might help."  
  
Everything next was a rush, a nightmare of a blur I don't quite want to recall. Faye shouted something at me, it might have been the signal, but whatever it was nothing registered in my brain. And then I felt the hard shove against my back and I stumbled out onto the street. Faye shouted something again, and once more I couldn't understand it. It must have been some kind of animal instinct that pulled me off my sorry ass and forced me to start running.  
  
That horror-inspired tunnel vision I had came to an abrupt halt when I tripped on some invisible obstacle and landed face first on the sidewalk. I took a quick look around and realized I'd run to the end of the block, a semi-busy street in front of me. The guns were still firing behind me, and also behind me was Faye.  
  
She was running in my direction and screaming at me to rise and keep moving. I stared at her form as it rushed toward me, then faced forward to obey the order. Pressing my palms against the ground I had pushed myself into something of a runner's starting position when I saw something.  
  
My blood froze, my heartbeat skipped a few and got all disorganized, and my muscles wouldn't move me either upward or back to the ground. It was another car; it looked much like our attacker's car, a black, low, almost a limo but not quite. Sure there were other vehicles on the road, but I could tell the oncoming one with its tinted windows and its obvious disregard for traffic laws was bound to be involved in our situation.  
  
And I was right. The windows rolled down, the sunroof slid open, and men wearing trench coats and identical expressions leaned out of the car and began to shoot at our attackers. Moments later, the vehicle screeched to a halt, swinging to the side a bit, and the door opened a few feet from my nose.  
  
"Get in!" ordered the man who opened the door.  
  
Faye had come up beside me and we exchanged confused looks. Faye probably thought these guys were friends of Marla's, while I'd believed that she had called up some friends of hers. But in our exchange of glances the two of us saw our assumptions were wrong and these saviors were strangers.  
  
"Hurry!" pressed the man with a look that grew more nervous when the sound of another volley came from behind. I heard the sharp pecking of bullets hitting the pavement nearby, and suddenly Faye's hand gripped the back of my shirt, pulling me to my knees.  
  
"Come on!"  
  
"But-"  
  
"Let's go!" Faye shouted, and before I knew it, she'd pulled me into the car and the door slammed behind us.  
  
Everything for a while after that came in a rush of noises and shoving. Whoever drove the car was doing so either quite badly, or quite expertly, I don't know. The windows were tinted, even on the inside, as if the passengers weren't supposed to see the route being taken. Kidnapper-like. It made me nervous, especially because the car was a Roles Royce, which is big doings. We'd attracted the attention of rich guys with guns-powerful people.  
  
There were four men inside besides us, including the driver. Two leaned far out the window on either side. They half-stood, half-bent over to reach far out, and Faye and I sat smashed between them so their asses were practically in our faces. There was hardly room to breathe. I couldn't even see what was happening in the front seat because the third gunman was standing straight up in front of us, top part of him out the skylight.  
  
I could hear all of their guns pounding on rapid-fire, and what seemed like an unending wave of empty shells dropped from somewhere out the sunroof onto my lap.  
  
The car swerved violently what seemed like every other second, and I was glad I couldn't see out the windows because knowing what we were zigzagging to avoid probably wouldn't have helped my fear. Faye held onto the back of my shirt, keeping me from crashing into the gunmen. I fumbled for a seatbelt, but found none, and held to the cushion as best I could. I was pressed close to Faye, and I felt her moving, fumbling through pockets for something, but it wasn't until I heard the "click" that I realized she'd reloaded her gun with a clip retrieved from some complicated part of her person. (I don't know where she pulled the bullets out from, and frankly, I don't want to know.)  
  
The relief I'd been clinging to, which had formed once I was out of direct line of fire from those other men back there, vanished completely. Faye was on her guard; she didn't trust these men even if they'd just saved us.  
  
She looked so used to that gun, and these types of situations, that I just knew there was some part of her I'd accidentally crashed into. The whole mess of a gunfight, that experience.I knew nothing about anything like that, which left me completely lost.  
  
I'd have to trust Faye's instinct, and since I could probably say I owed my life to that instinct, I trusted her completely. If she was on her guard amongst our rescuers, that seemed to me a perfectly good excuse to resume my state of terror.  
  
*~*~*  
  
It seemed like forever before someone said the blessed words: "I think we lost them," and the car slowed to a normal speed and quit jerking. Finally the two men hanging out the windows moved back inside all the way and into the back seat, and the standing man-who's belt buckle had practically poked my eye out-sat down in the passenger seat. He said something to the driver and then promptly pivoted in his spot to look us over.  
  
I saw his eyes give a quick once-over, evaluating our condition. My clothes were dirty and torn from falling, and ducking, and whatever else. I had a few scratches that must have been bleeding, and I'm sure I looked a mess. Something I've never been able to master is coming out of a bad situation looking good. When the man's gaze turned from me to Faye, I also turned to stare at the woman and I saw-with a little jealousy-that she looked just fine.  
  
Her clothes, whether because she knew to buy stronger material or just because she fell and crouched the proper way, were a bit smudged but otherwise in a perfect state. There wasn't a mark on her skin. In fact, other than the absolutely horrible glare on her face, she looked perfectly calm.  
  
With a click, she raised her gun to point at the man's face. "Who are you," she demanded in an even tone with angry icing. The driver of the car glanced at her for a moment, then turned his eyes back to the road as if nothing was going on.  
  
I took that moment to look him over; the one who'd opened the door and who we probably owed our lives to. He looked more Asian than I do (I'm only a quarter Chinese) with black hair that was kind of messed up a little, as if he had better things to do than comb it in the morning.  
  
He took off his sunglasses. There were tired lines under the eyes that looked right into Faye's. "I'm glad to see you're all right, Miss Valentine," he said, saying her name, as if he talked to her every day in this manner. "It's a good thing our sources are quick, I was warned that when you get into trouble it heats pretty fast but," he smiled slightly, nearly shyly or embarrassed, "I didn't expect this much so soon, honestly I thought some of those stories about you were-ah-exaggerations."  
  
The evidence of a slight personal connection only left Faye startled for a moment before her eyes turned cold again. The gun hadn't moved at all. "Who are you, how the hell do you know me.and who's telling these stories?"  
  
"And who were those guys shooting at us?" I added.  
  
The car stopped before he could continue, and the man took a deep breath as if to prepare. He got out, and a second later the door on our side was opened by a man who looked very out of place in his valet uniform. The man who'd been talking to us stood in between us and the building we'd parked in front of.  
  
"My name's Shin, if that means anything to you," he said.  
  
Faye frowned. "It doesn't," she said, putting her feet on the ground but not exiting the car completely.  
  
Shin shrugged his shoulders. "I really wasn't expecting it to," he admitted. "Spike's not much of a story teller; I doubt that he'd have mentioned me."  
  
Faye was so caught off guard that she actually lowered her weapon (although her finger stayed on the trigger). "You knew Spike!?"  
  
"Mind if we talk inside?" Shin asked, nodding his head towards the entrance and heading toward it at a brisk walk before the answer came.  
  
"But how do you know who I-HEY!" Faye leapt from the car to give chase. "Stand still when I'm asking you something! Where do-" the rest of that sentence was cut off from my ears when the sliding glass doors closed behind her. The glass was tinted as dark as the car's, and she seemed to vanish completely.  
  
"Hey, there's another chick in here," shouted the valet boy suddenly as he stuck his head in the vehicle. "Who's this kid?" he called to the gunmen who'd been headed for the door.  
  
"KID!?" for a nice little moment I completely forgot my fear and focused my energy on the annoyance of the incredibly rude valet. "I'm twenty-two!" I looked the guy over, he was clearly the youngest of the group so far and he couldn't have been over eighteen. "I'm older than you!"  
  
He winced at my overly-loud outburst, and I could hear those other gunmen laughing in the background as I sat in a huff, trying to mimic Faye's glare.  
  
"Bill!" came the incredulous cry of one of the men. "Do your job, you're not in character!" he barked though a belly laugh.  
  
"But-"  
  
"Now, Bill," said another. "How does a good little bellboy treat a lady?"  
  
With a grunt and an eye roll, Bill stepped aside, holding the car door open for me. "This way please," he practically growled, glaring at one of the suited men.  
  
"'This way please' ~who~ Bill?" crooned the man.  
  
"Mademoiselle," he finished through clenched teeth, face so red I would've laughed if I hadn't been in such a hurry to get to the door. When I stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw that we'd been taken to what looked like a hotel ranking the same standards as its valet. One vertical neon sign lamely blinked 'Hotel', with no other more unique title in sight. The 'el' portion of the line didn't even light with the rest of the letters. The whole building was brick-painted and reminiscent of older earth designs; however it went up a good forty stories at least, although dwarfed by most of the surrounding buildings.  
  
I let the sound of the men's laugher and Bill's pathetic comebacks follow me into the foyer where there came an abrupt silence before the doors into the lobby opened for me-and then there was yelling once more. Apparently Faye hadn't made much progress with Shin.  
  
"Will you just fucking explain-"  
  
"Miss Valentine I-" whatever Shin was going to say, he stopped abruptly when I entered, and looked rather relieved. "Good. You're here-please," he indicated a small row of chairs near the check in counter (which a man in a trench coat leaned over, ogling Faye).  
  
I shuffled my way to the chair, suddenly very self conscious now that everybody in the lobby was staring. All men, all in trench coats, or suits, or dark clothing. Nobody but Faye looked close to an average civilian-but with her short skirt, long coat, miffed expression, and gun still in her hand.well. ok fine, I was the only average person there.  
  
"Regarding your question earlier." began Shin, after I'd taken my seat behind Faye. Vaguely, I wondered if he'd tried to get Faye to sit, and how well that had blown over. She stood with her hands on her hips, and I sat with my hands in my lap, like the wolf and the pup she guarded. "The people who attacked you were members of the Gold Serpent Circle."  
  
My head shot up. "What?" I started. If Marla had been making business deals with them, they were in for a lot of money, so why would the Circle try to knock off her assistant and put the deals in jeopardy? The suspects I'd picked had been the Red Dragon Syndicate, rivals of the Circle, and the people with the most obvious motivation for disrupting Circle business.  
  
Personally, I'd thought my guess was pretty good, but Faye apparently agreed with Shin. She hadn't seemed the least bit surprised; in fact, she gave a heavy sigh, crossed her arm and muttered, "Figured as much."  
  
"What makes you say that?" I asked her, then quickly looking past Faye to Shin, I continued, "Why would they be after us-is it just me or Faye, or is it both of us?"  
  
"Well they shot at the car," Faye reminded me. "They might have thought we'd picked up Marla already and were after her."  
  
Shin breathed deeply, looking very tired. "You work for Marla Hearst, correct?" we nodded, Faye doing so with an eye-roll. "Did she really have a meeting today with Byres?" we nodded again.  
  
He put a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "I was afraid of that-and they were chitchatting about Spike and Vicious, too..." He sighed and looked at us again. "How much information did she give him?"  
  
"Nothing," Faye responded. "Hearst was the one asking for information."  
  
"I.see.." He was now rubbing his forehead. "I see."he repeated, "what information is she after?"  
  
"She wants to find Spike and hear just what that Dragon Slaying was all about."  
  
"I see," said Shin once again, his expression now pitiable.  
  
"Well I don't see!" I shouted, standing up. "What does Marla's game have to do with us getting shot at? Did she say something at the meeting that would get us into trouble-and why did they just let HER walk out of the office and shoot at US, when we weren't even at that meeting?!"  
  
Shin held up his hands. "I'm afraid we haven't been able to tap Byres's office, so I couldn't tell you anything. Perhaps you should ask your boss if you were mentioned in her discussion with him."  
  
I shut my mouth, realizing that I should do exactly what he said.  
  
I looked up to tell Faye something, but I held my tongue when I saw that now was not the time at all to be bothering her. Her lips were pursed, frowning-- her entire body stiff from repressing God knows what. "So what do you want from us?" she asked Shin slowly. "What's the favor you're going to call in for saving us from the Circle?"  
  
Shin shrugged. "I was sent to get you, so the favor doesn't belong to me."  
  
"But.?"  
  
"But.I do have an idea of what the favor is going to be." One of Faye's eyebrows lifted. She'd seen this coming. Shin straightened up, and that sleepy fog that had hung over him diminished a bit. "We've already gotten warnings.questions are being asked."  
  
"So that's how she's gonna do it," Faye murmured. She nodded knowingly and crossed her arms. "She started a chain reaction in all the right places-and here I thought she lacked subtlety."  
  
A look of what seemed to me to be pure relief graced Shin's slight smile. "Yes, you understand completely, Miss Valentine-or is it Gatsby now? Of course you can see, then, why it's best for all of us that Hearst's search is stopped. We can take care of it-but I can't guarantee how it will affect the two of you."  
  
I didn't know what was going on but it didn't sound right inside my head. I stood up straight and balled my fists at my sides. "Well ~I~ don't understand what you two are talking about-chain reaction? To what?" I swept the room with my eyes, taking in the sight of the many dark figures who probably never had or would be gentlemen. "And what do you have to do with this anyway?"  
  
Shin looked amused, his former exasperation seeming to have leaked into Faye. She gaped at me for a moment, and then slapped her forehead with her open palm. "Vivika." Faye said slowly. "Don't tell me you haven't figured out where we are."  
  
"What?" Frowning and narrowing my eyes, knowing I had missed something, I took another good long look at the room. I still saw what I had first taken in: man after man, young to old, looking rather like those tired soldiers on television. Their eyes brimmed with pessimistic humor, and their clothes were worn and always dark. Well, except for the bellboy who'd ushered me out of the car; he wore the red and gold uniform of his position, hat and all.  
  
He stood near the couch in the lobby closest to the door, and when he saw me staring in his general area, he caught my eye. His arms had been crossed, but one hand unwound itself, and pointed down at the floor-then he winked.  
  
I looked at the floor, then my head shot up so fast I'm sure I nearly got whiplash. The bellboy winked again.  
Right under my feet, painted carefully on the marble tile, was a bright red insignia. A giant drawing of a Chinese dragon, claws extended and teeth bared, stretched across the lobby floor from the door to the receptionist desk.  
  
I knew this symbol.  
  
Once again I looked at the men, but this time I knew exactly who I was seeing. "You're." my knees gave way, and I fell back into the chair hard; my mouth was dry and I fought to swallow. "You're.this is."  
Faye opened her mouth to speak but someone else beat her to it.  
  
"The Red Dragon Syndicate," prompted a voice, finishing my sentence. . I looked up to see another man, tall, dark and slouchy descending the stairs. He smiled, kind of lopsided-like, and took an unlit cigarette from between his lips. "What, nobody told her?"  
  
"I." with no memory of bending my knees, I hit the chair hard.  
  
Faye, meanwhile, had turned several colors-most nearly unnatural-in rapid succession. "I should have known." I heard her murmur. "Why did I ever doubt it?" she cracked a disturbing smile and laughed lowly.  
  
"Um.Faye?" I tried.  
  
She spun around and exploded at the man on the steps. "So this is where you've been the past year? Spike Spiegel--you fucking Lunkhead!"  
The name sounded familiar. I looked the man over, wondering if I'd met him before. He stood with his shoulders sloping, but I could tell that Spike was tall. He was skinny, tanned, and sported a head of green hair that looked almost like an accident. He's looks were distinct, but they triggered no memory. It had to be the name.  
  
"Hello to you too, Faye," he replied, not seeming the least bit offended. In fact, when Faye had shouted, his grin widened.  
  
She frowned. "Is that all you have to say? Hello?" with clenched fists she stalked towards him, Shin nearly jumping out of her way.  
"You're supposed to be dead," she growled.  
  
Spike exhaled loudly. "I told you-"  
  
"You weren't going off to die-I know. Don't bother spitting out that crap again, I don't want your speeches you selfish bastard. Do you even know what you put us through?"  
  
"Why Faye," he smirked. "You almost sound caring."  
  
"Fuck off!"  
  
"Ouch."  
  
I stared at the two of them in shock, which worsened as soon as it hit me who Spiegel was. I'd just remembered what Marla had said: Spike Spiegel was the Dragon Slayer, the urban legend who'd killed a powerful Syndicate leader just a days after that leader killed the Van in a bloody coup.  
It then occurred to me that if Spike had killed the old leader of the Red Dragons, that meant that he was the new leader..  
  
So there was Faye, screaming and cursing in the face of one of the most powerful and dangerous people on Mars. I felt like throwing up. My only comfort was the expression on Spike's face. He seemed to almost enjoy the tantrum before him, taking it all with a lazy smile and a few quipped retorts.  
  
Even the other Syndicate men in the room, who were all watching with interest, looked in good humor. Nobody made any move for their weapons, which made me feel a bit better. I don't know much about the mob, but I know that anyone talking to the Godfather the way Faye did wouldn't be alive at the end of the movie.  
  
But the mood seemed to chance when Faye slapped the cigarette right out of Spike's hand. He watched it fall to the ground, then turned his eyes back to Faye with a serious expression.  
  
"I'm not playing with you, Spike, I don't give a rat's ass about your come-backs," she hissed. "I know I can't get you to take me seriously, but I can fucking well make you pay attention."  
  
His eyebrows arched slightly, and he waited for her to continue.  
  
"Don't even talk to me about caring, hypocrite. You could have at least told us you were alive."  
  
He had absolutely no facial expression-and that still bothers me. "Do you really think it would have been a good idea to contact you with all the Syndicate activity?" Spike asked her, but she accepted that response with a snort.  
  
"Bull. Don't even think telling me you did it to protect us, because that's shit. I know it, and you probably do too. In fact-" Faye cut herself off with a sort of surprised look, as if she'd just forgotten where she was and what she was doing. She'd been standing on tiptoe to glare in Spike's face more easily, but she then lowered herself down to ground level.  
  
"No." she said slowly, shaking her head. "Forget this, I'm not even going to bother."  
  
Spike's eyebrows arched again, but it seemed more natural than melodramatic this time.  
  
Faye shook her head again and with her hands on her hips, looked back up at Spike with an irritated-but otherwise calm-expression. "Ya know what?" she said. "Never mind."  
  
"That's surprisingly rational of you, Faye." It looked like his original grin might return, but Faye wasn't about to allow it.  
  
"I meant never mind ~you~," she responded curtly. "I'm done. I made my peace with this; I said goodbye to you already and this is not hello."  
  
Spike opened his mouth but Faye continued quickly.  
  
"Don't worry, I'll make sure Marla's set straight. You're pretty little empire wont get muddy because of me. Handle things on your side, I'll handle them on mine, and you'll have nothing to complain about except the same old stuff about proud women."  
  
Then they were both quiet, staring at each other for a moment. I watched them with a knot in my stomach, and the other agents in the room stared just as intently. Only the two in the center seemed to be immune to the tension in the air.  
  
Then it was Faye's turn to smirk. "See you, space cowboy," she said, and with that she turned on her heel and walked out the door, disappearing as the tinted glass slid shut behind her.  
  
Spike stared after her for a second or two, then shrugged. He turned back towards the stairs he'd come down, grinding out the still smoldering cigarette with his heel as he went.  
  
"Same old woman," he mused. That smirk-although a little smaller-had returned, and he wore it while stuffing his hands in his pockets. He ascended the stairs without taking notice of the small crowd staring at him, whistling some old tune all the way, and only pausing to glance back down at me and then at Shin, asking, "Is this Faye's kid or did you get a girlfriend?"  
  
That's when my brain turned on, and my face turned red. I ran out the door after Faye, calling her name in a whimpering yell. I'd only just made it out of the foyer and into the street when I stopped. It was twilight by now, and Faye was hard to see in that black coat of hers. I had to turn my head to look up and down the street twice before I spotted her. But before I could move to pursue someone caught my arm.  
  
It was Shin, but I yelped anyway, afraid of being dragged back into the Dragon's building without Faye to protect me.  
  
"Take it easy!" cried Shin, releasing my arm immediately. "I just wanted to remind you that the Circle has targeted you and Miss Val-Gatsby, I mean."  
  
"Oh yeah." I managed, realizing that I'd forgotten that fact for a moment, probably because I'd wished to repress the thought. "But-Faye said she.she would fix it.wasn't that what she said to him back there?" I pointed at the hotel with my thumb, and saw that my hand shook a little.  
  
Shin produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. "I know that your friend doesn't want involvement." he tired. He motioned to the paper and I saw that it was a business card for the blandly named East Tharsis Grand Hotel.  
  
"If you run into more Circle trouble that number will call the front desk," Shin explained. "Just tell whoever answers that you need an escort, he'll know what it means."  
  
"What does it mean?"  
  
He smiled at my ignorance. "When we picked you up this afternoon, that was an 'escort'."  
  
I pictured the black Rolls Royce, the gunman, the windows tinted on the inside and out, and I managed an, "Oh.um. thank you." Pocketing the card, I gave a struggling polite bow and then rushed off after Faye at full speed.  
  
I caught up with her two blocks later, and then asked her to explain what had gone on back at that hotel. "What was all that stuff you said- about fixing things and chain reactions. and stuff.?"  
  
"Bar," said Faye.  
  
"And how come you didn't say you knew Spike Spiegel when Marla brought it up, she'd gonna have a freakout and make things worse you know."  
  
"Bar," said Faye.  
  
"And how come you were yelling at him like tha-" I stopped short as Faye's hands clamped down on my shoulders, holding me still and forcing me to look her in the face. For all that energy and strength she'd displayed back there while facing Spiegel, Faye looked exhausted. Like fabric worn too thin. She had the eyes of a woman three times her age.  
  
"Vivika," she said slowly, smiling patiently although with a bit of condescension, "I need a bar." Fingering the card in my pocket, I nodded compliantly, and we turned our heading towards the bright 'Liquor' sign down the street.  
  
To Be Continued  
  
And there it is, chapter 3! I was in such a rush to post that I didn't proofread, so please forgive the usual errors.  
  
Now for my handy dandy commentary!  
  
Okay so you may notice that a lot of questions are presented and left unanswered in this chapter. Remember folks that Vivika, the narrator, doesn't know the back-story of Spike and Faye, and since she is telling the story, I can't write down explanations for character's actions that the narrator herself wouldn't be able to explain. (I think I just confused myself with that one.)  
  
On to topic 2- realism is fun! One of my reviewers described Marla as "borderline Mary Sue" I think, and I'm sorry but I have no idea what that means. Part of the problem people seem to have with Marla is that she is a pretty outrageous person, and readers don't find her realistic. So here's where the irony comes in, because I modeled her character, partially, after an actually person. Marla is a combination of Tom Buchanan and Gatsby from the book The Great Gatsby, but I also got a lot of her traits from William Randolph Hearst (thus Marla's last name).  
  
For history- the real Hearst was a millionaire who was pretty influential for a time in American History because he owned his own newspaper, which he often used to sway public opinion to his point of view. He had a very.quirky personality so to speak. A very famous movie called Citizen Kane (sp?) is a sort of "version" of Hearst's life, Kane's character being modeled after William Randolf Hearst. (can you say, "Rosebud"?)  
  
And finally, for notes on this chapter in relation to the next, you can look foreword to both angst from Faye and a fight scene! The F/S stuff, for all you fans, is of course just beginning, and don't worry, Jet and Ed (and Ein of course!) will be coming too, but not for a while yet so keep your shirts on.  
  
All that said, thank you to my reviewers so so much!! I meant to do one of those things where people are thanked individually, but I really wanted to get this chap up as soon as it was done since the wait was so long, so maybe next chapter.  
  
Thank you once again, I look forward to comments always. Compliments are lovely and criticism is of course accepted and appreciated as long as it's not in flame format.  
  
Please review! 


	4. Civilized World

4- Civilized World  
  
  
  
Some people think of the Cowboys as troublemaker vigilantes. They get angry at these scarred, bully-type 'ruffians' for making their way in the world without the struggle of the corporate ladder and all that shit. Perhaps those are the people who are jealous of a lifestyle that appears so free.   
  
I was never one of those people, but I admit I did believe that whole allusion of outer space portrayed as an open range. Something I learned throughout everything is that Nothing is Free, not even opportunity.  
  
~*~  
  
"What's that?" Faye asked, eyeing my drink with distain.  
  
"That's a coke," I said.   
  
"A rum and coke?"  
  
"No, just a coke."   
  
Faye frowned. "And what's that?" she pointed to the glass next to it.  
  
"That's an ice tea."  
  
"A Long Island ice tea?"  
  
"No, Faye, it's just an ice tea." I began to sip at my soda, but it wasn't easy to enjoy it while Faye was staring at me the way she did. The stare was a mixture of displeasure and disbelief, and I frankly didn't see what was so fascinating about my refreshments. "What?" I asked.  
  
Faye continued to stare at me for a moment before wrinkling her nose, the four vodka shots she'd lined up momentarily forgotten. "Don't you ever drink?" she asked.  
  
I wrinkled my nose as well. "You sound like Marla."  
  
"It's a valid question."  
  
I had to fight to suppress my annoyance, because you see, people are ~always~ asking me that. Vivika, don't you drink? Sometimes it seems like that's all I hear at parties. "It's not that I don't drink, socially, on occasion," I explained for the thousandth time to someone, first time to her. "I just think there are other things that taste better."  
  
Faye smirked. "It's not about the taste as much as the effect…" she trailed off to down one, then another, and then the third tequila shot in professional succession. When her facial expression returned she shook her head and gave an airy laugh. Finally she turned back in her seat and began to stare at me again, looking me up and down. "So what ~do~ you do? I just couldn't picture you getting high…"  
  
"Huh?" I gaped. "Where did that come from?"  
  
"Well I'm just saying…" she paused to suck on a slice of lime, features contorting once more when the sourness hit her tongue. "I'm just saying—curious actually—what do you do when you need a break?"  
  
"From what?"  
  
Down went the last tequila.  
  
"Everything."  
  
The glass hit the table with a clang, and I sat quietly, trying to think of a response.   
  
Faye began to suck more alcohol from a tiki-shaped mug through a twisty straw as she fiddled with the toothpick umbrella that came with it. While watching her, something in the back of my mind told me I should disapprove of this woman, while another part of me brought up the point that at least Faye looked a lot calmer now than when we left Spiegel and that hotel.   
  
I did as I usually did when faced with inner conflictions, which is ignore both sides and wait for someone else to start talking.  
  
And eventually Faye did start talking, although half the time I was pretty sure it was to herself.   
  
"So middle class, Vivika. You're so middle class," she said to me, and I wondered how much alcohol was in one shot of tequila, let alone four. "In fact, it's abnormal—you know what kind of life you have?"  
  
"Um…"   
  
  
  
"It's like an after school special—are there other people like you?" she began to look at me as if I were a cartoon character, blinking constantly with both eyebrows arched way up. "I thought they all died fifty years ago…I'd like to meet these people—tell them I used to be one of their…their kind…that I'm still here.   
  
I'm still here but I've changed…" a rattling sound began to emanate from her mug, revealing she was sucking ice now instead of whatever that drink had been.   
  
"And it's surprisingly easy how it all goes to hell. That's the reason there's so many homeless—and fuck it if you don't want to live in a box you'll turn out like me."  
  
"I will?" I couldn't quite follow.  
  
"No not ~you~," Faye snapped. "I'm talking about the rest of those 'normal' types…Marsha, Marsha, Marsha…" she began to laugh with that creepy, bitter chuckle she so often uses.   
  
"Shit. I've lost it."  
  
"Lost what?" I was almost afraid to ask.  
  
Faye picked up one of the empty glasses and gave the amber-colored ice a faint smile. "My mind…"   
  
  
  
I wasn't sure if that comment required a respectful silence, but when the waiter arrived and set a few bottles down in front of us, I watched Faye stare at hers without any movement to claim it and couldn't help but ask, "Wasn't that the point?"  
  
"The point…" Faye repeated quietly. She'd become stoic so quickly it caught me by surprise. She no longer stared at me, or at anything in particular except the condensation ring on the table next to the smoking ash tray. "…But… at least I'm still here."   
  
That night was the first time I realized that there are three kinds of drunks in this world: the happy, the sad, and the philosophical. I know Faye wasn't the happy kind, but everyone seems to have their own ideas on the border between the other two.   
  
"So tell me what went on back there," I prompted in a selfish attempt to change the subject.   
  
Faye grunted. "You saw."  
  
"Yeah, but I didn't get it," I pointed out. I waited a couple moments for her to say something, but when she did not, I fed her another starting point asking, "So where do you know Spike Spiegel from?"  
  
With a loud, surrendering sigh Faye picked up the unopened bottle and began to twist it around in her hands in an absent minded sort of way. "Marla told you he was a Cowboy, don't you remember?"  
  
"Yeaaah…" I blinked. The wheels in my head seemed to turn too slowly, but they were picking up speed at least a little at a time. "And you were a Cowgirl…so you know each other from that?" I blinked, running over what little I knew about bounty hunters. "So is it like a club or something…where you all know each other and stuff?"   
  
Faye's jaw dropped open, her eyes widened, and she sat staring at me like that for at least a second and a half before she busted up laughing, loud enough to turn all the nearby heads at the bar.   
  
"Oh, Vivika!" She breathed through the stitch in her side. "When you heard Young Man's Cowboy Association—you actually thought the Cowboys associated with one another!!" Finally the beer-tinted giggles began to subside, and she sat up straight with her elbows on the bar and a hand pressed on her lips. Her shoulders shook every few seconds and her eyes glistened in mirth while glancing in my direction. "Oh you poor kid!" was all she managed to say without starting the cackling fit over. "You don't know anything!"  
  
I gave her my best grumpy look, but I think it only added to her humor. I admit I didn't know much at all about the Cowboys back then. Most of my information on them came from Marla's lawyer, Jerry.   
  
~*~*~  
  
"Have you ever even considered, Vivika, what would happen if there wasn't a bounty system?" he'd asked me one day when I popped in to pick up some papers for Marla to sign.   
  
"No," I answered. "But I suppose that would mean more work for the ISSP, wouldn't it?"  
  
"Oh don't kid youself, Viv," he sighed. "The ISSP can't do anything. They're all red tape, and investigation. They don't stop the criminals, they just have their forensics guys tell them who to set up a bounty for—nobody really wants to protect and serve anymore. People want quick cash. That's why there are more Cowboys than officers."  
  
"What about the army?" I countered, frowning at his cynicism.   
  
  
  
He shook his head. "So far, it's all politics," Jerry told me. "If we weren't under Syndicate rule, it'd be martial law, and at least the Syndicates have a knack for business."  
  
I gaped at him, unable to believe it. "You're a lawyer and you like the Syndicate? You like it that we have to have these Cowboys running around everywhere?"  
  
Jerry shook his head and put his hands on my shoulders. "I don't like it, it's just the system. It's the system, and it's as good as it's gonna get—unless someone's actually dumb enough to take on one of the biggies, like the Dragons or something (keep in mind that this conversation was long before Spike ever made a legend of himself, just after Jerry graduated from law school) but as a lawyer I'm forced to be realistic."   
  
He smiled then, and let go of me, sending me out the door with a pat on the arm. "Go on home, Vivika. Just forget what I said. I like it better when you smile, and I can't seem to tell you anything happy."  
  
Just another person telling me how lucky I was to be so naïve, but I was, wasn't I?  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Faye had stopped laughing long before I snapped out of my memories, and by the time I was paying attention again she'd settled down into a kind of stupor.  
  
The quiet soon made me uncomfortable, so I waved a hand in front of Faye's face, which seemed to surprise her for a second before she gained her ground. "So what are we going to do about this Syndicate thing?"  
  
Faye groaned in disgust as I reminded her of our present predicament. "Uggh, I'm thinking," she began to tap on an empty shot glass. "I'm thinking; just give the inspiration a few minutes to go through my blood stream."  
  
"Fine, fine," I said. "You're in charge, just please come up with something before the hangover kicks in."  
  
"Ugghh…"  
  
"And speaking of hangovers, don't you think we should call up Marla and tell her what happened?"   
  
  
  
With her mouth firmly pressed into her sleeves, Faye gave a muffled shriek like a child being smothered by a pillow. She slammed her open palms onto the table so hard the glasses rattled. "I can't believe I'm back involved with this. It's her own fault anyway!"  
  
"What? How?"  
  
"Marla got us into this shit, don't you see?" She stared at me wide-eyed. "You don't see, do you?"  
  
  
  
I shrugged.  
  
"Oh Vivika," she leaned her open palm into her forehead, shaking her head pathetically in exasperation with me. "Did you really, really believe that someone can just waltz right into Syndicate headquarters like we did back there---and not have any ~consequences~!?"  
  
I hunched my shoulders as if they could hide me. "What kind of consequences?"  
  
"It's that chain reaction I was talking about," she grumbled. "Look at it this way: do you know how to drive something out into the open? Like…I dunno, a rabbit or something. Say you were looking for a rabbit in the bushes, and since you're obviously not going to want to crawl through the bushes on your hands and knees, you have to drive it out into the open—get it?"  
  
"About the rabbit? Yes, but I don't see what that has to do with Marla."  
  
Faye sighed. "Let me finish," she commanded, muttering some discontentment over the rabbit analogy under her breath. "Now you've got a rabbit in a bush—how would you drive it out?"  
  
I bit my lip. "Um…hit the bush with a stick?"  
  
She blinked. "Yeah, I guess that would work too…" Her own version probably involved guns or something. "So think of Marla as the stick."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Ughh.. this isn't working..." Faye grumbled the obvious, her face scrunching into a familiar sour look that I recognized from our poker lessons. She gave me that look whenever I asked what cards made up a flush, or something like that. "Look, I can't draw you a picture here… I know this stuff isn't your thing, but, just try to understand—keep an open mind or whatever."  
  
"I can!" I insisted. "I'm not dumb, ya know."  
  
"Ughhh.. fine, sorry, you're not dumb, just ignorant, and it's not like that's your fault…" As I debated whether or not to try glaring again, for it usually only served to amuse her, she began to explain.  
  
"The Red Dragons are keeping their business profile low," she started. "They're pretty small right now, and the Gold Serpent Circle could probably wipe them out, if not for one thing."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Spike Spiegel," Faye replied, the telltale shadow of a smirk across her lips for one tiny moment. It had been almost like…a glimmer of pride.   
  
I thought about what she'd said. Spike Spiegel could turn the tides in a Syndicate war? Who was this guy—Alexander the Great? He certainly hadn't looked the part from what I'd seen, just a man who needed a haircut, who liked to smoke and apparently push Faye's buttons as well. Of course, I'd only seen him for five minutes, but that image seemed like the polar opposite of the mental image I'd conjured up of the famed Dragon Slayer.   
  
"He's that good?" I asked, hearing how meek and awe filled my own voice sounded. "It really isn't just hype?"  
  
Faye gave a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "When people are lost…they make heroes," her voice was low and quiet. "When the Red Dragon Syndicate began to crumble with that coup...all those agents who based their confidence on a strong leader, they got scared. They needed a hero, but they didn't have to make one. Spike was already there…and so was Vicious."  
  
Her voice had gotten progressively harder and harder to hear, and I'd barely caught the last part. It seemed that a respectful silence was appropriate. I wanted to ask more about this Vicious or—as I referred to him in my head—'the sword guy' but it just didn't seem the right time.  
  
"Anyway," Faye's tone became business-like as she came back to earth. "Vicious is dead, who knows who the Circle has turned to now, but the point is that the Dragons have Spike—and they need Spike. It's very important to the balance of power."  
  
"It's political?" I wondered aloud.   
  
Faye snorted. "No. Politics is words. The Syndicate is action."  
  
"Oh.." My stomach had started to twist a little. I didn't like how complicated this was getting. Faye obviously hadn't even gotten around to her real point yet, and if that point needed a history lesson, it wouldn't be too straight forward.   
  
"So you can see that the Circle's top priority isn't the Dragons, it isn't even Marla, it's Spike."  
  
"Oh.." I repeated. "Is that why we got out of there so fast?"  
  
Faye's eyebrow twitched. "You're missing the point," she said. "The Circle is using Marla to get to Spike."  
  
I blinked. "Wha--? What does one have to do with the other!?"  
  
Faye exhaled loudly. "Okay, lets try another one of those analogy things," she suggested. I groaned in protest, but she ignored me. "Do you know where to buy drugs, Vivika?"  
  
"What? NO!"  
  
"Well let's pretend for a moment that you want to buy some, okay?" The corners of her mouth had turned up into a smirk, and I nodded begrudgingly. "What's the first thing you'd do?"  
  
"Go to a dealer?"  
  
"Where's the dealer?"  
  
"Oh…um…I suppose I'd ask around," I tried.   
  
Faye's smile stayed, and she raised an eyebrow. "Ask who? Anyone?"  
  
I laughed. "Well of course not! I'd have to ask somebody who'd know… and I couldn't ask someone who'd call the cops on me."  
  
"You would have to be careful," Faye nodded. "But what if you were above the law? What if you had so much power that nobody would dare touch you unless they were big enough to match?"  
  
It was as if someone had oiled one of the gears in my brain and as a result, the whole machine was turning at an alarming rate. "Someone like Marla!" I cried, starting to understand where Faye was going with this. "If Marla wanted to find something she wouldn't have to worry about who she asked, and people would tell her what she wanted cause she's in a position to give out great rewards…"  
  
"Exactly," Faye acknowledged me solemnly. "The Circle is using Marla to find Spike, simply because she can."  
  
I remained silent, taking all of that in. It sort of made sense. There Marla had come, wanting to get her curiosity satisfied, and the Circle could easily have used that to their advantage. Faye and I didn't know what had gone on in that meeting with Mr. Byres, but what was for sure was that Marla had come out of the office with enough information to begin her search for the Dragon Slayer.  
  
"Still, there are a lot of holes in this," I pointed out, and Faye shrugged. "Like how come if the Circle is just as—well actually way, way more powerful than Marla—how come they can't find Spike themselves?"  
  
"It's that chain reaction I was talking about," Faye explained. "When the Syndicate comes knocking on your door and asks you questions, you answer them, and if you're still alive then you keep your mouth shut. Any Syndicate is based on the principle of Shut the Hell Up."  
  
"But Marla doesn't go around killing people…" I added. "So they wouldn't be afraid of her."  
  
She nodded. "If the Syndicate is looking for something, you're supposed to keep it all secret so they can sneak up on their target and surprise 'em. But if a billionaire starts poking her nose around a bad neighborhood calling out names—well, people will talk, and nothing spreads faster than a rumor."  
  
"And the chain reaction is…?"   
  
Faye's fingers strummed on the table in obvious agitation. I watched her eyes flick hungrily towards a man at the bar who was smoking a cigarette, and her twitching fingers became more obvious. She shook her head as if to clear it before replying.   
  
"The chain reaction is this: Marla asks someone a question about Spike, that person doesn't know anything but that person tells his friends that some big shot out of Tramalchio is up to something and those guys get curious too. People tell people. The grapevine gets so thin you can hear anything through it, and suddenly it's the talk of the underworld that somebody's after the Dragon Slayer."  
  
"Like hitting at a bush with a stick," I mumbled, remembering the original analogy.   
  
"Soon all the talk would be too dangerous, and Spike'll have to find a new hiding spot—"  
  
"Which'll bring him out into the open long enough for the Circle to take care of it," I finished. "I think I get it now."  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"It's a just theory—it would at least explain why the circle let Marla go, alive and everything…" we exchanged glances then, both thinking the same thing. We hadn't talked to my boss since right before the shooting, and there was a chance that after all these hours full of Syndicate activity, she might not be alive anymore.  
  
"OH FUCK!" Faye shouted with more disgust than worry. She slammed her hands on the table again, and left them there pressing down on the wood as she took many loud, deep breaths. When she finally recovered some composure, she started at the bottle of beer the waiter had brought. "Call her. Tell her to stay put wherever she is; she's got herself in a bad position, and things'll somehow manage to get worse if she dies."  
  
No sooner had I turned my phone on, even before I could dial, it rang, and a moment later Marla Hearst's face appeared on the screen.  
  
  
  
"Finally!" she cried. "Where the hell have you been!?"  
  
"Look," I started. "I'm sorry I didn't pick you up but—"  
  
"The car got shot up," Marla finished for me, waving her hand aggressively. "I know, I know, it's all over the news—'Marla Hearst's car attacked, no bodies found, expected kidnapping…' blah blah, it goes on like that, but what was I supposed to think? You know, Vivika, if you're involved in a near death experience it's considerate to let people KNOW that it was a NEAR experience and not an actual DEATH! Why the hell did you wait so long to check in?"  
  
"Um…sorry?" I managed before my boss started talking again.   
  
"Oh and then there's the thing that since it's my car everyone on Mars thinks I've been Shanghaied or something—not to mention Jerry's been calling me like every thirty seconds to check if there's any word from you, which is almost as often as your parents have been calling…"  
  
"My parents? Oh hell…" with the hand that wasn't holding the phone I quickly slapped my forehead four or five times growling 'stupid stupid stupid' at myself with each hit. In all the…well, let's say "excitement", I'd forgotten that the billionaire's car being attacked would bound to get attention, and people would be worried.   
  
"Marla! You didn't tell them I was dead or anything did you?"  
  
"No I did not," she spat back indignantly. "I only told them what I knew, and that was that you WEREN'T ANSWERING YOUR FUCKING PHONE!!!!"  
  
"I turned it off," I replied meekly, hoping Marla hadn't screamed at my mother and father.   
  
"OFF? Why the hell—"  
  
For once I managed to interrupt her. "Marla I have something important to tell you," I blurted out in a rush. "But I gotta call my parents first—"  
  
"And Jerry," she added. "He's phone-stalking me too."  
  
"—And Jerry, so I'll call you right back, just…just…I'll call you back!" And with that I hung up and sprang to my feet, nearly knocking my chair over. From the way my boss had shouted, Faye had heard pretty much everything even from the other side of the table.  
  
"Maybe we should have called earlier…" she mused aloud as if she only half believed it herself. "She sounded worried."  
  
"She sounded pissed," I replied. I wasn't listening to Faye as well as I should have, in hindsight, but I was busy searching my purse for my correspondence book.   
  
  
  
Faye was sipping her beer sort of absently, shaking her head just a little and staring at nothing once more. "No… she was worried. She had that tone. I know that tone; I've heard that tone. She was worried."  
  
I stopped shuffling through my handbag and stared at her quietly for a moment. Faye's words needed decoding, as per usual, but my brain was slow to compute. "My parents are gonna talk a lot, I might be a while. Do you want to call anyone first?" I offered, holding out my communicator.   
  
Faye stared at the comm. as if she didn't know what it was, then glanced at me before moving back to the phone. She shook her head slowly. "No, that's fine."  
  
"Are you sure?" I asked. "Don't you have to get yelled at by someone?"  
  
Faye smiled. I can't help but wonder if she actually thought she looked happy, because she seemed to be trying hard enough, but it came out so depressing. "No. That's fine. Go make your phone call." She'd hardly finished her sentence before I rushed off towards the bathroom.   
  
When I dialed my parent's number, it was busy. It took me three tries to get through, after which there was much crying and scolding and apologizing and the usual suggestions about changing careers. The conversation was long, loud, and although quite touching from my point of view, it's not important to the story so I'll skip it over.   
  
After managing to end the conversation with my family on the claim of a low battery, I started to dial Jerry but figured I'd been away from the table far too long to be polite (even if it was for a good reason). When I reached Faye again, she didn't notice me until I'd reclaimed my chair in front of her and her head snapped up as if she were waking. "Make your call?" she asked.  
  
I nodded. "I've got one more left, but we probably ought to get things straight with Marla first." I took out the comm.. device once more and let my thumb hover over the speed dial, frowning. "Think she'd get the rabbit scenario?"  
  
Faye sighed. "Stop stalling, let's get it over with. We still need to find someplace to stay tonight."  
  
"Right," I agreed, pressing the button to ring my boss. Once again she answered immediately.   
  
"So?" I couldn't tell from the tiny screen where she was exactly, only that she sat with her chin in her hand and a bored expression. "What's this important thing you had to tell me?" Oh, how to word it? Marla, you're part of a theoretical yet elaborate Syndicate scheme to kill the Dragon Slayer—not right. Nothing was right.  
  
  
  
"You're in danger," I tired uncertainly. Across the table, Faye was waving me on. "T-the Red Dragons are…they think you've allied yourself with the Circle—yeah…---and that's why they shot up the car. You have to stay hidden until Faye and I can get to you." My voice began to grow louder, confidence increasing as I realized that my lie—although large—was actually believable.  
  
"Stay hidden?" my boss wrinkled her nose in disgust in disbelief. Low Profile isn't exactly a Hearst's specialty. "But I'm out in public right now—Fox Cross Pub, it's on Elm."  
  
"Elm?" I looked to Faye, who shook her head. "We're pretty far from there and it's too late to rent a car right now. Is there someplace you can hide out until morning."  
  
"Morning?" Marla winced and turned her face to look at something outside of the screen's view. "Well…" she finally sighed. "I suppose I could get the guy to buy me breakfast afterwards. I dunno where the place'll be though…"  
  
"I'll call you once we've gotten the car and you can tell me then," I rushed her. "Just try to stay in doors—and sober." I hung up and turned off the comm. before she could protest, and then all I could do was hope she followed instructions.   
  
With a relieved sigh I closed the comm. unit and shoved it back in my purse. "Well I'm glad that's over with for now. Dunno what we're gonna to in the morning though…" I'd hoped right then that Faye would pop in with a plan she'd concocted, but no luck. "So…are we going to find a hotel or something?"  
  
At the mention of hotel, my mind wondered to the place we'd left. I pictured Spike Spiegel on the lobby stairs, lazily looking down at us with hidden emotions I couldn't guess at, and hardly noticed through my fear… and Faye, with her strange argument ringing in my ears…her knowledge of the Syndicate life…   
  
Things happen, I realized. Things happen every day that are so dangerous and strange I probably couldn't comprehend them.  
  
"What was that?" I asked as I suddenly heard Faye grumble something.   
  
"I said 'sucks'."  
  
"What sucks?"  
  
She jerked her head towards the small stage at the front of the room near the far side of the bar. A pale, scrawny man with overly good posture was playing the saxophone with his elbows tucked amazingly far in.   
  
  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked. "Don't you like jazz? Not a blues fan?"  
  
"Hmph." Faye uncrossed her legs before recrossing with the other leg on top. "I like blues, jazz, and music for that matter—and that noise is not music," she scoffed, sneering at the sax player who took no notice of her. He kept watching the clock on the far wall as if he couldn't wait to leave.  
  
I turned away from my stage to face forward again, shrugging. "Sounds fine to me."  
  
Faye chuckled and rose from her seat. "Then you haven't heard a professional—if you had, that slop would offend your ears."  
  
I left my seat too, dropping a few woolongs on the table before following Faye through the crowned bar towards the fire exit. My thoughts turned to Spike and his reputation. "You sure know a lot of professionals, Faye," I pointed out.  
  
"Art is art," she grinned and winked. "I'm a professional too, you know, under a different title of course."  
  
"Cowgirl?"  
  
"Poker Alice," she smirked, leaning against the door.   
  
As soon as it opened, we stepped out into the alleyway beside the bar. There was a shadowy strip between where the light from the bar door's bulb left off and the light from the street seeped in, On the edge of that strip Faye stopped me by extending an arm to block my path.   
  
  
  
I opened my mouth to whisper something, but she looked deep in concentration, her other hand resting on her hip. Everything afterward was as sudden as the first attack. The arm which had blocked me suddenly shoved me down. I heard a click of a gun, a curse, and a *WHAP* as something from the dark knocked the gun out of Faye's hands.  
  
It landed near me, and I rose to get it, but before I'd even stood completely something hit me in the back. I saw white for a split-second, then nothing at all.   
  
I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to things didn't look so good from my angle (that angle being from the ground, kind of dizzy, with litter and asphalt bits sticking to the side of my face).   
  
Two men were lying nearby, knocked out or maybe dead, but Faye appeared to be having trouble with three others. They'd backed her into a wall, which for a horror filled moment I thought meant she was done for, but she used the wall for leverage with her next high kick and another man went down.   
  
That seemed to be all she had left though. Before the remaining two even touched her, she crumpled to the ground, holding her side.  
  
"Just a woman, you said," grumbled one of the men, examining his fallen comrades.   
  
"Shut up," snapped the other. "We got her, didn't we?" he sneered. "And she's a pretty little bitch too…" Hunched over and barely supporting herself Faye glared vehemently at them, her fist clenched hard at her side, waiting for one to come in close enough.   
  
But then we heard the sirens. Far off, but with no traffic on the streets coming in fast. I sprang forward, behind the men and out of the mouth of the alley, arms out to flag down the cops. The men cursed and ran off down the alley in the other direction, and just in time too, for when an ambulance whizzed by with it's lights and sirens blaring, I knew that I wouldn't have been in deep shit had our attackers known it wasn't the police.   
  
I rushed back into the alley and found Faye where she'd been left. "Faye?" I called. "Are you okay?"   
  
"My gun," she grunted, hand grabbing at the bricks as she tried to pull herself up.   
  
"You look bad off," I pointed out as I fumbled in the shadows until my hand connected with eerily cold metal. Uncomfortable and disgusted with the weapon, I held it between my fingers and returned to Faye's side just in time to catch her as she toppled over. "We gotta get you to a hospital."  
  
"No!" she barked, grabbing her gun out of my hands and, fumbling a lot, forced it into her coat pocket. "To easy to trace, just—" a wince cut her off, and she collapsed completely.  
  
My knees nearly buckled against the new weight, but I somehow managed to get her out of the alley. But on the open street, at night in a bad neighborhood… I turned my head from left to right, not knowing what to do or where to go, for after all, she'd said no hospital.   
  
I was terrified. Faye wasn't conscious to protect me, or to tell me where to go and how to get through this. With a calming breath, I remembered seeing a free clinic down the road somewhere, and forced myself to pick a direction and start walking. The whole time, I stared at my feet—right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot—because I knew if I didn't focus on something I'd spend the whole time worrying and wondering if those other two guys would pop out of the next alley I passed, or of the men knocked out on the ground back there would wake up and start chasing me.  
  
Right foot, then left, I managed to force myself into some kind of trance and before I knew it there was red light on the sidewalk against my feet and I looked up to see a familiar sight.   
  
East Tharsis Grand Hotel—my feet had somehow carried me there.   
  
The glass doors slid open and Bill, the young 'bellboy' I'd gotten mad at before stepped out to take his shift. He looked up and did a double take when he saw Faye and I.  
  
"What the hell?"  
  
"Just get help!" I begged, hearing a catch in my voice. The trance was broken now, I was scared and exhausted and I wanted to lie down right there on the street but that just wasn't an option, so I wanted to cry.   
  
Bill nodded, disappearing through the doors again. And moments later, there was Spike Spiegel. Shin stood behind him a little, looking pretty surprised, but Spike didn't seem shocked in the least. He didn't say anything, just arched his eyebrows, silently asking.  
  
"I…I didn't know where else to take her," I tried. With desperation I managed to maintain eye contact, something deep inside telling me I ought to. I resituated Faye against my side, but my strength was giving out and Bill—standing behind his boss and Shin—looked nervous, probably able to tell I'd drop the woman any second.   
  
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know what to do…so…I'm sorry."  
  
Spike seemed to examine me for a moment, then heaved a heavy sigh and stepped forward. Involuntarily I took a matching step back, but before I could do anything else Spike reached out and easily plucked Faye out of my grasp, pulling her easily into his arms with a hand under her thighs and back.   
  
He turned back towards the building without a backward glance at me, and I heard him order Shin to 'get the med kit' before the foyer's second doors shut behind them. Bill was holding the first set open for me, almost as if he were an actual bellboy instead of a costumed front for the hotel charade. He gave me a look which asked "are you coming or not?"  
  
That was my last chance, you see.   
  
I stared off down the empty street—I could have run off then and left Faye to the Syndicate, and she'd probably have been just as fine without me while I was fine and free. But I didn't run. My last chance that I didn't take. Instead, I nodded to the boy, and then stumbled inside the hotel.   
  
To be continued  
  
Ugh that was LONG! Sorry folks but once again it couldn't be helped. But oh well, I hope it compensates for the long wait.  
  
I hope you were all paying attention, because this chapter is very important to the plot. It also is important to the environment of the story, and characterization and such and such.  
  
I know you all wanted more Spike in this chapter, but there was some key stuff I had to get out of the way before he really comes in, and that's over now so every chapter from now on will have 100% of the doctor recommended dosage of Spike! WOO!!  
  
Also, I noticed that the rated R fics don't appear on the just in lists anymore, and.. well that pisses me off! I got a lot of comments that people didn't know I updated, so here's what I'm gonna do: since the fic is rated R pretty much because of the word fuck, I figure that considering today's society and that there's other fics that use the f word with lower ratings, I'll lower the rating on this fic to pg 13. That way you can know when I update a lot easier. If you are particularly offended by the language…well…I'd like to say tough noogies, but if I get too many complaints I'll raise the rating again.  
  
Thanks for reading, please review! 


	5. Beware the Bad Boys

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring…except for this fanfic author working her butt off to complete this chapter.  
  
Yesh coming to you on location from the beeeutiful city of Phidelphia is red-tenko here to post her newest chapter. Yes this California girl tore herself away from pretending she has a Jersey accent to get some writing done, and here it is!  
  
Happy holidays, here's your gift.  
  
Chapter 5: Beware the Bad Boys  
  
"Hi Jerry, look I—oof!" I tripped and nearly fell back to the last bend in the stairwell, but luckily caught my balance on the railing. Bill glanced back to make sure I was still following, but didn't pause. "I really can't talk right now."  
  
I heard some kind of miffed noise from the other end of the line and it crackled on the receiver. "Well are you okay? Shit, Viv, I saw the car on the news and didn't know what to think!"  
  
"I'm fine!" I insisted as cheerily as I could fake while I sidestepped a line of three Red Dragons descending the stairs as I climbed forward. They were laughing and smoking and each crammed his neck as I passed to stare at my skirt's hemline. I clenched my teeth and spoke through them. "I'm really fine, Jer."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
Oh God, what a question!   
  
When he called I was jogging up the fifth floor steps, but when he asked that I was stumbling somewhere between floor ten and eleven. Spike had taken Faye to the elevator—out of the hotel's six, the Dragons only kept one working. I felt nervous as hell when I watched Shin run in after his leader, and the sliding doors closed on the view of him, Spike, and my bloody friend. There wasn't room for me in the lift, and I stupidly couldn't stand still for five minutes and insisted that Bill, the fake valet, point me to the stairs. It wasn't long before he was at least a floor ahead of me, pausing at each landing to pop his head in the door and ask, "This where he took the woman?"  
  
"Are you at home yet?" Jerry's voice brought me out of my memorial brooding.   
  
"N-no, I'm still in Tharsis."   
  
There was no floor thirteen because of old American superstitions, but fourteen brought no luck either.  
  
"Why the hell are you still in a place where someone's put a hit on Marla!?" Jerry snapped. I could picture his expression as a combination of alarm and exasperation, but I really didn't want to see it, and was thankful I'd remembered to set my comm. for audio only.   
  
"Well I've had a rough day…" I pouted at the phone, wishing I could vent about all the crap that should never be pushed into one 24 hour period. That morning I'd eaten breakfast with Marla and Faye as usual, and by evening I'd been in two Syndicate buildings, been shot at, knocked unconscious, and had my sobriety mocked for the millionth billionth time.   
  
"I'm too tired to find a car and drive home," I gave as my excuse. "I'm in a hotel." And hey, the last part was true.   
  
"All right, I'll pick you up."  
  
"What? NO!—I mean, you don't have to, I'm fine and I…uh… already paid for the room."  
  
"Marla can cover it, you shouldn't be in Tharsis," he insisted. "I'm coming to get you, what's the name of the hotel?"  
  
I fought my brain for excuses to throw at him—remember Jerry's a lawyer, and he's pretty good. The last thing I needed was to be on the stand with him. I knew I had to end the conversation quickly, especially when I looked to the next landing and saw Bill waiting for me at the door out to the nineteenth story. "Room service is here, gotta go, bye Jer!" I blurted out all at once and hung up, turning off my phone before he had a chance to call back.  
  
"That was lame," Bill smirked at my excuse.  
  
"Shut up," I snapped back. The damn teenager, considering the echo in the stairwell and my powerful mic, had probably heard most of the conversation. "Which room is it?" I then asked. A few Syndicate men stood in the hall before me, deep in their water cooler talk, loitering in front of the many numbered doors.   
  
"The suite," Bill jerked his head. "At the end." With that, he turned back in the direction we'd come from.   
  
I looked down the hall and back to him. "You're not coming?"   
  
He favored me with an incredulous glare. "I'm on watch, stupid." He closed the door behind him, leaving me staring at the FIRE EXIT ONLY sign. I stood still for a moment, took a deep breath, then turned and defiantly marched down the hall as quickly as possible. I heard a dog call or two from the Dragons I passed—apparently there weren't usually women in this building (unless they frequented for money, if you know what I mean).   
  
Two guards in heavy Kevlar armor, holding the scariest rifles I'd ever seen, stood on either side of the suite door looking like something off TV. They stood as still as the old palace guards on earth, giving me no indication that I was allowed to pass or forced to stop. They didn't even look at me; they'd probably been expecting me come to think of it. It hit me then that this was probably Spike's room, for I couldn't think of anyone else in the building whose sleep was guarded so well—unless they thought Faye was going to break out and massacre them all with her cursing, or something like that.   
  
I lifted a tentative hand and inched it toward the door handle. "Can…I…?" I started slowly.  
  
"Miss Chen!" someone interrupted from behind. I turned around to see Shin, the only person I'd met today with good manners. He was burdened by a gigantic grey box with a large red cross on the side. It was the med kit—probably a hospital in a box, to judge by its size. "Sorry, could you get the door?"  
  
"Oh! Right," I obeyed. I turned the handle and stepped inside, quickly moving out of the way for Shin to squeeze the first aid kit through the frame. When he passed me I closed the door behind us and took a look around the room.   
  
It was a suite all right, probably the best in the building. I followed Shin past a small, living room type area with a large television, a kitchenette completely bare (save for coffee), and a couch sporting an indenture of a person in its cushions. French doors separated this place from the bedroom area where I found who I was looking for.   
  
Faye lay on the bed, still unconscious, wearing just her blouse and panties. Spike was crouched next to her on the mattress, shoes on the sheets, holding a bloodied towel against her side. He looked up when we entered, sending Shin and his box a smirk.  
  
"Heh, I thought you only pull out the big one when I fall down."  
  
"I couldn't tell how bad it was," Shin replied, glancing at Faye as he set down the kit.  
  
"She's fine. Slashed not stabbed; surface wounds."  
  
Shin nodded. He opened the double sided lid and the kit expanded, revealing tiny shelves like a make up case might, but instead of lipstick there were pill bottles and instead of concealer there was gauze. He shifted though the bottom platform and frowned. "We're out of disinfectant," he said, looking accusingly at Spike.  
  
Spike shrugged. "I've got a flask in one of my jackets that'll work—jeeze, this towel's ruined," he grimaced at his stained linen for a second before shrugging that off as well. "Hey kid, get that bottle from my coat, it's— Shin I need a towel, I just realized this is the bathmat— it's the brown one in the closet."  
  
"What? Oh, sure, sure…" I shook myself out of my trance when I realized he'd been talking to me and I hurried to the closet. Spike Spiegel owned less clothes than most normal men (which when compared to how much clothes most women have, is slim pickings as it is). There was just a suit or two, sweats, a few extra casual pieces I couldn't picture him in, and some other things that just ~had~ to be for costume shoved in the corner. I only saw one brown coat, a trench coat.  
  
It was really gross. The coat was singed, ripped, and there were sliced holes all across the front like someone had taken a hacksaw to it. I could only assume those wide, dark stains were blood, and there were so many of them I winced despite myself. Why Spike would keep this thing, I don't know, because it certainly wasn't fit to wear. However, when placed in whatever situation had caused such damage, I couldn't blame him for having a flask shoved into the inside pocket. I retrieved the little bottle, and shuffled up to the bed, passing it over.  
  
I finally got an up close look at Faye. She didn't look too bad, but not too good either. Her skin was flushed, which was probably a bit of a bad sign but I was glad to see she wasn't pale and dead looking as I'd half expected. There was a gash on her right thigh, which explained the reason for removing her pants. Spike had left it alone for the moment though, treating the bigger wounds first.   
  
"You said she'll be okay, right?" I asked.  
  
"Yeah, she's a stubborn brat who's already outlived us all," Spike replied, dripping some alcohol onto the towel Shin brought him. He pressed it against Faye's hip, and in her sleep she bucked, kneeing him in the stomach before rolling over.   
  
"AGH! Stupid shrew," Spike growled. He roughly turned her back over and began to dab the towel more gently, muttering, "wuss."   
  
Sliding an arm underneath her, he propped Faye up enough to wind the bandage around her back, again and again until the roll finally ran out. "Just like her to get into a mess—and even more typical of her to involve other people." He didn't specify if the "other people" meant him or me.   
  
"Ah well," he shrugged, holding out his open palm into which Shin placed another roll without having to be told. "When she wakes up I'll give some of that star treatment she used to give me," and as he muttered something about tangerines and selfish women, I began to doubt his medical expertise.   
  
I stood at the edge of the bed, watching them work while neither acknowledged my existence. I felt stupid just loitering there, but I had no desire to go back out to the hall with those Dragon cronies hanging around. I also couldn't even be sure if it was safe to leave Faye to Spike anyway, what with the way he drawled on about revenge and how he looked too comfortable winding the wrap around her thigh.   
  
After hovering dumbly for at least twenty minutes, I felt like saying something. I sure as hell did have my questions— like why, for example, was the leader of the Red Dragon Syndicate patching up Faye's "surface wounds" when he had a whole building full of subordinates to do the grunt work for him? Surely, the way he carried on, it couldn't be because of loyalty.  
  
  
  
'Keep your mouth shut,' I ordered myself. 'Don't interrupt them, not while they're working'. But then Shin pointed out blood staining Faye's shoulder. And when Spike unbuttoned her shirt, laughed, and exclaimed, "Miracle of miracles, she's wearing a bra!" I couldn't help but glare and demand:  
  
"Don't you guys have a doctor or something!?" with my hands on my hips.   
  
Spike looked up at me with an expression that seemed to ask "You're still here?" Instead, what he really did was shrug and say, "Better ogled by friends than groped by strangers." He smirked and winked at me, apparently thriving on my annoyance with him.   
  
  
  
I narrowed my eyes. "But you two aren't friends."  
  
"Caught me," he winked again with that impish smirk and returned to patching up Faye. "No matter, she ain't shy."   
  
Aggravated and suspicious, I looked over his shoulder. He was winding the roll securely around her shoulder, a little above the end of her left collarbone. The hand that supported her while working was notably distanced from Faye's breasts; apparently Spike had caught my worry and made it a joke.   
  
He did a lot of stuff like that during the time I spent with him—testing people's boundaries that is. He liked to see how much it took before someone exploded, and then prod a half inch short of the mark, leaving his poor victim tottering on the brink of rage without a push or a pull.  
  
I tried not to give him the satisfaction, so I rolled my eyes and stalked off towards the door. But when I remembered the hallway full of Syndicate men that I just didn't want to hang out with, the thought made me stop short. Instead of venturing out of the room, I decided to wait in the living area of the suite. Spike and Shin wouldn't be much longer anyway, for that shoulder wound looked like the last of them.   
  
I sat down on the couch to wait, but as I'd had an admittedly long day (which is a most major understatement) and had nothing to eat since breakfast, the exhaustion was overwhelming so I fell asleep at once.   
  
I woke up only an hour or so later thanks to the discomfort of the terrible position I'd drifted off in. I grimaced and stretched, hearing joints along my spine crack into place. I felt awful— still very sleepy with the remains of sweat and makeup sticky on my face, scratch awful, I felt disgusting. Unable to stand it, I urged myself forward and shuffled back into the bedroom area.  
  
Faye was still sleeping, but Spike seemed to have moved her into a more comfortable position. She'd been tucked in, rather casually with just the far corner of the blanket yanked forward to cover her torso but otherwise on top of the covers. I saw her ruined shirt folded on an ottoman next to a foot; following the foot to its inevitable connection, I found Spike fast asleep in on a chair with the TV guide covering his face.   
  
  
  
"Men are weird," I sniffed groggily, and continued my stumble towards the bathroom. There I scrubbed my face until I finally felt human again, and was about to return to the couch when I heard a low groan from the bed.   
  
I froze. Faye was stirring, probably waking up. I started for the door but paused in indecision. After all, this was the last place she seemed to want to be, and then I went and brought her here. Sure it was for her own good, but she might still be angry. I thought perhaps I should get to her before Spike woke up, so I could explain everything and hopefully calm her down, but I'd apparently stopped for too long.  
  
Spike had shifted with the first noise, but when Faye tried to roll over and upset her wound, she cried out and he sprang from the chair, hand to his gun. Meanwhile, I'd ducked back into the bathroom. Faye's last encounter with Spike Spiegel was on replay in my head, and I decided that it would just be safer to wait until the yelling stopped. I made myself comfortable on the floor, and watched them through the crack I'd left in the door.  
  
"Ugh…where the hell…?" Faye asked, propping herself on her elbows and sitting up a little. She then saw Spike and greeted him with another groan and, "Oh, it's you."  
  
"As usual." he rolled his eyes. "And lie down before you screw up those bandages."  
  
"Why, did I need stitches?" asked Faye. Against Spike's warning (or maybe because of it) she sat up completely and began testing the extent of her injuries. She was able to lift her left arm until it was even with her shoulder, but any higher than that forced a wince. Simultaneously, she moved her right leg around and it seemed to give her free motion although a little slow.  
  
"No stitches," replied Spike as he retrieved a pill bottle from the first aid box. "Just give them time to scab over."  
  
"Well I guess you would be the expert," she grumbled, wincing again as she discovered the gash in her side kept her from pivoting to the right.   
  
"Just shut up and take two of these," he snapped, tossing the bottle at her.   
  
"What are they?"  
  
"Speeds the healing process."  
  
Faye lifted the bottle to eye level, shook it, then screwed her eyes as she opened it and dumped a few pills into her hand. She sniffed them and gave a low, impressed whistle before swallowing them without water. "That's some expensive shit," she said, grinning kind of meanly. "I guess leading a crime ring has its perks. I wonder how many pharmacies your Dragons have to hit a month to keep you in one piece."   
  
Spike sent her a warning glare and settled back into his seat, leaning his elbows on his thighs. "So?" he asked. "What happened?"  
  
"Who knows?" Faye shrugged and flopped back on the mattress. "Waiting for us outside the bar, five of them…dressed as gang boys but weren't faking it too well. Guess they wanted the ISSP to think muggers did it, but I haven't seen many muggers wearing Prada's 'Gangsta' line."  
  
"Think they're from the Circle?"   
  
"Most likely, but I still couldn't tell if it was me or the kid—or both of us, maybe, that they wanted dead..." she trialed off into thoughtful silence.   
  
Spike was silent also as he leaned back in the chair a little and took a cigarette pack from his pocket. He grabbed it by the end and slapped it against the opposite palm until one of the white sticks showed itself. He placed the cigarette between his lips, but paused before lighting it, holding up the pack as if toasting the figure on the bed.   
  
  
  
He'd said nothing, but Faye's head lifted up as if she'd heard the offer through some other means. She eyed the cigarette for a moment. Her breathing was quite audible, and she licked her slightly parted lips before replying shortly, "I quit." Her head flopped back again.   
  
Spike arched his eyebrows in surprise, even pausing to stare slightly as he lit up. He inhaled deeply, and at once seemed to relax all over. It was strange, somewhat. I hadn't been able to see the stress in him until he breathed it out in a foggy stream.   
  
"Quit gambling too?" he suddenly asked with a smirk, and Faye's laugh was his reply.  
  
"Never," she murmured in triumph.   
  
He almost seemed to laugh along with her. "Just making sure I had the right Faye Valentine."  
  
There was a long pause as he stared at her, hard, waiting for the reply. Spike could do that better than anyone—turn the tables of a conversation with a word, a tone, a look…a feeling you can get just by looking into his eyes.   
  
"It's not Valentine anymore," Faye sighed. The residue of her laughter was gone, leaving a very tired woman. "It's Gatsby."  
  
And then there was more silence. More waiting, almost to a point I couldn't stand. What had turned started as cowering for personal safety had turned into eavesdropping, and although they'd said nothing of consequence I could feel it in the air how unwelcome my presence was. I couldn't just walk out now, saying something like 'Sorry, was just using the John, don't let me interrupt' because that would break whatever uneasy spell they'd woven. It was a very private spell, and I was feeling very guilty.  
  
Oh well, say what you will about my integrity but I had no choice but to keep listening, and so I did. I watched too, watched the seconds and minutes tick away before Spike took a last drag, put out the cigarette and stood.  
  
He stepped up to the bed until he hovered above her, expressionless. Faye must've known he was there, but she took her time in opening her dark green eyes, and when she finally did they were mere slits to meet his.   
  
"So tell me what's going on."  
  
"There's really not much to say," replied Faye. She remained completely still, lying there, and the whole scene looked as if Spike were communicating with a sleeper. "Marla, the Circle, the Dragons, and me all pushed into a nice pile of shit—is it worth getting into now? After all," she cracked a tiny smile. "That's not what you really want to ask me is it?"  
  
Spike stayed quiet, focused on her. Pause. Inhale. "How's Jet?"   
  
"And…?"  
  
"And how long did you wait after I left before running off again?"  
  
"There it is," Faye murmured. She began to lift herself, propped by the elbows once more until she was half sitting up. "You sure do take some shoving to get down to things—but that's you, isn't it? Either full of ambiguity or blunt as they come."  
  
"It's you too, you know," muttered Spike, turning away from the smallest of catlike smile's which had graced her lips. "But replace ambiguity with denial."  
  
"I'm not denying anything," she called to his back. Their whispers were broken, she spoke normally now. "In fact, I'll answer your questions right now. To your first question, last I saw Jet was fine. To your second question, I left four months after you did. Question three? No, I wasn't thrown off the ship. Next one, no I didn't run away—oh, and to the inevitable joke question: no, Jet and I did not have a fling gone sour." She closed it off with an open palmed slap against the mattress with both hands. "Does that satisfy you?"  
  
"Not quite," Spike answered, turning back around. "Why did you leave?"  
  
A shadow of something seemed to cross Faye then, filling her look with something that could have been bitterness or anger. It was hard to tell the name of the emotion, but easy to see that it was dark. "You gave up your right to ask me that," she growled softly. "You walked out, there are prices to pay."  
  
"You walked out too," Spike reminded her. "Sounds like you're rights are gone too."  
  
"And I've accepted that," she snapped back and held her glare. "But I don't think you have."  
  
Spike frowned at that. He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and leaned far forward so that their faces were close. "I've accepted a lot of things, Faye," he said. Their eyes remained locked for a moment before they broke contact simultaneously. Spike turned away to look out the window and as soon as his back was to her, Faye's arms collapsed from the exhaustion she was pressing on her weary body and she was lying down again.   
  
Once again there was silence, thankfully broken by Faye. "Tell me why I'm here, Spike," she said, letting her eyes slip closed again.  
  
He didn't look away from the window. "Your friend brought you."  
  
"Figured," she snorted. "But I don't mean now. I mean when your spies saw me at the Gold Serpent Circle's building, and then they attacked and Shin pretty much gave it away that you'd sent him for me. Your Dragon's could have taken me anywhere—would've been smarter, after all, not to let a liar and a cheat know where you're hiding.   
  
  
  
"But here I am. There I was, and here I am. Anything you needed to know you could've gotten on your own, or at least by calling. You wanted to see me face to face…" she tried to lean up again, but didn't have the strength and settled back. "Well, Spike, I'm right here. We've been face to face for plenty of time now, so tell me, why am I here?  
  
Spike remained still and quiet, starring out the window. Maybe he was looking at the traffic in the streets, or maybe he was really looking at Faye's reflection in the glass, who's to say? No newcomer would have seen it, but the tension he'd had before his cigarette was back in his slouchy shoulders. It seemed to be the tension and weakness of adrenaline run dry.   
  
Faye, probably fed up waiting for him, jutted out her bottom lip and said, "Fine." Her head rolled to face his turned back. "If you wont tell me why I'm here, why don't you tell me why you're here.  
  
Spike turned slowly and not completely around. "I thought you said you didn't want me to tell you that stuff."  
  
"And I thought you said there was still a future," she bit back. "I thought you were done with the Syndicate." And when their eyes locked that time, both pairs looked so desperate… "Promises, promises…" she whispered, turning her face away.  
  
"Promises, promises," he agreed softly. He stepped away from the window and headed off. When he reached the French doors the divided the suite, he made to close them behind him, but paused before he did.   
  
"Goodnight, Miss…" he paused in indecision. I wondered if he'd say Valentine or Gatsby, but he settled for neither. Instead he laughed, sent the heavens a quick glance, shook his head and called, "Night, Romani!"  
  
Click, and he was gone.  
  
"Goodnight…"  
  
To be continued…  
  
BAH! Humbug. Well here it is. The long awaited (hopefully) chapter five. I decided at the very last minute to take a very very different turn with this story so I hope you like it. Of course I've only succeeded in making things difficult for myself by changing my plans, but oh well I think it'll work out better in the long run.  
  
I seriously didn't know what I was going to do with this confrontation scene. Originally it was going to be a lot more angrier. In the fanfiction world one encounters a lot of angry asshole Spike. Some authors write this Spike so well I'm amazed…I am not one of those authors. This is the way I write them folks, you're just gonna have to deal  
  
The way I see the CB universe, it's a lot of quiet time where you have to listen to what they're not saying—cause if you notice, they don't exactly let go their souls unless they gotta.  
  
If you can understand my ramblings that is. Whatev.  
  
In other news, I turned eighteen! Yesh, go me, I am a Christmas eve baby, and do you know what I would looove for my birthday? Some reviews please! Oh and shameless plug, chapter 6 of For Every Action is out so yall should give it a gander.  
  
Until next time! 


	6. Leather and Lace

Happy Belated Groundhog Day. And now for the traditional Groundhog Day gift exchange…that's right folks, I give you chapter, you give me reviews!  
  
And don't forget, it's tradition ^.~  
  
6 Leather and Lace  
  
I don't know how long I waited on the bathroom floor, just sitting there listening to Faye's breathing even out until she finally started to snore and it was safe. I crawled as carefully as I could to the dividing French doors. Spike had closed them when he left, and so I thanked God that when I opened them they swung back without a creak.  
  
Unfortunately, my spot on the couch was gone. With his bed occupied, Spike had taken to the sofa. It was too small for him, so his head lay on one arm rest while his feet stretched far over the other. I stopped myself from grumbling and headed for the door.  
  
The hall outside was thankfully empty, save for the two guards at Spike's door. I took at deep breath and tried to decide what I should do. I felt so exhausted that I knew I couldn't just hang out until everyone else was up and about again; I had to find a place to sleep.   
  
Of course, it did occur to me that the Dragon's base was a hotel, so there assumably wasn't any shortage of beds. The problem was more along the lines of knowing what rooms were empty. I didn't think just moving down the line, knocking on doors would be a good idea. Even if I did find an empty room, imagine if the occupant had just stepped out and when he came back found me in his bed? Bad scenario.  
  
I thought about going downstairs to the lobby and crashing on one of the couches, but there was no privacy there. I also considered going down and finding Bill, if he was still on guard duty, and getting him to find me a bed, but I ended up turning right around and asking one of Spike's guards (the one on the right) where I could find Shin.  
  
"Suite," he grunted. "One floor down."  
  
  
  
"Thanks," I said, although I think I sounded a little grumpy like I didn't mean it. I headed back for the fire exit stairs, only realizing as I made it to the lower landing that I could have used the elevator that time.  
  
I'm almost positive that I woke Shin up, but the poor guy was pretty nice about it. "I need a place to sleep," I opened with, rather unceremoniously. I then realized that what I said could be a double entandre, and I rushed to make it clear, "Extra! Bed, that is. An extra bed. One—one of the spare rooms…that kind of extra…"  
  
"Hmm?" he shook his head to wake up. His black hair swung into his eyes; whatever held it still during the day had apparently been washed out. "Oh yeah, sorry, I should have thought of that before…" he disappeared back into the room, rubbing his hair and making the mess of it bad enough to look kind of cool. The door had been left open and I followed him in.   
  
Shin's room was exactly like Spike's in design, but it was a whole lot messier which I admit surprised me since Shin seemed so…I'm not quite sure if the word is 'upstanding' or 'uptight'. It was mostly laundry, cast aside in any direction. He definitely had more clothes than Spike, but they all looked pretty similar. Sort of casual dress—a lot of black.   
  
But I could tell, by the whole lived in feel of this place, that this was what Shin considered Home. The room above had seemed so empty, but where I was I found myself attracted to Shin's dresser. It was cluttered and it felt familiar, like the kind of things you're used to seeing on a guy's shelf: old receipts, spare change, cigarette packs, and—well—bullets.   
  
And there were pictures….  
  
Lots of them, in various corners, it was almost as if he had a woman's sentimentality—of course I noticed that he was in most of the photos, so perhaps a woman had taken them. I occupied myself by looking at the various frames while Shim himself rifled through something on the other side of his own set of French doors.  
  
I pointed out the first thing I'd noticed when he came back in.  
  
"You're a twin," I stated what he most certainly knew already. I didn't catch his reaction because I was still bent far over to look at the tiny photo. Two heads of black hair, same face, but… "You're the one on the right, aren't you?"  
  
I looked up to see his face set in awkward surprise. "Yes," he finally said. "How did you tell?"  
  
"Your brother looks…kinda angry in this picture," I explained. The embarrassment node in my brain was finally starting to catch up with the rest of me and I realized I was pretty out of place. "I haven't seen ~you~ angry so…no basis of comparison…plus, the hair and all…different style."  
  
"Yeah, well, Lin didn't know how to calm down sometimes," Shin sighed and sat down on the bed. He had a few stapled papers in his hand, and somehow he looked more like he'd just stepped out of the shower than out of bed, even though he was all dry.   
  
"Anyway," he began in a different, conversational direction changing kind of tone. "The thing is this place really isn't a hotel—I mean, it ~was~ a hotel, and we still pretend it is to the public…long story short, we only supply power to the rooms that we use.  
  
"There are plenty of spare rooms I could put you in, but they wouldn't have electricity…or water, or heat, and I'm sure that by now they'd smell pretty musty," he explained, cracking one of those smiles that look as if he's afraid to mellow out. "What I can do, is set you up in the room of one of the guys that's on duty. That way you'll have it to yourself for about six hours."  
  
"That's fine," I assured him. "I just need some sleep, I wouldn't mess up anyone stuff or anything."  
  
Shin nodded understandingly. "But one last thing, the shifts switch in a half hour, so if you could wait until then it shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"Half hour," I repeated like a diligent parrot. "No problem." I tried to smile like that vacant smile you see some teens do to assure him I wouldn't be any trouble, but I didn't have the energy to keep it up. I sighed, weary and embarrassed.   
  
"But can I hang out here until then?" I pleaded. "So far the only guys I'm not freaked out about meeting in the hall are you, Spike, and Bill, and I really don't want to stand outside playing Bellboy Buddy…plus, I don't think he'd appreciate it."   
  
"Sure," Shin nodded, accommodating but not jumping through hoops over the idea.  
  
What followed this was a long, very awkward silence and I seem to recall starring at my feet a lot. Scuffed shoes. I began to look elsewhere, back to the pictures. I had to squint to make out the little details. Shin kept shifting in his seat until finally clearing his throat. "Would you—er--like a drink, or—"  
  
"Is that…" I interrupted him, getting to my feet again and scuffling over to the picture which had caught my eye. "This is it, isn't it?" I lifted the plastic frame off the dresser and pointed.  
  
"Is what it?" he asked, coming up behind me to see what I saw. Shin was in the picture, Spike on one side of him and a woman on the other. The woman was the center of the image--- a gold haired beauty that reminded me of Venus standing on her seashell, pearl of the gods. She stood in the middle with men flanking either side—Shin on her left, Lin on the right.   
  
But it wasn't her I was looking at.  
  
I was looking at the man standing next to Shin's brother. His face was young but his hair was white. On one shoulder perched a bird with elaborate feathers, and peaking out from behind the other shoulder was the hilt of a sword. Marla's sword.  
  
"That's that katana Marla bought!" I exclaimed, excited for some reason. "The one that belonged to…oh don't tell me, I know this… he's got a funny name like Spike…"  
  
"Vicious."  
  
"Yeah, that's it!" I lifted the photo up to look close at the man Spike had killed and replaced. There didn't seem to be anything special about him…other than that bird, and that wasn't so much special as weird. I sighed and returned the frame to its place. I couldn't help but wonder what I thought putting faces to names would accomplish.   
  
"Sorry," I said. "I should just be minding my own business, huh? I just got a little excited about recognizing something; I've been confused all day."   
  
My eyes were still on the picture. I stared at Spike and Vicious's tiny faces and wondered what that duel had been like. Was it Spike's dried blood on the sword like Marla thought? Had they both used swords, or had Spike used a gun and was that even fair? I remembered watching the news a year prior and seeing the Syndicate building half destroyed—surely swordfights didn't involve explosions. There was so much under the surface of this place.  
  
"It's not your fault that you're here," Shin offered. I half expected him to punch me on the shoulder and say something like 'buck up, sport!'. That in itself was a strange image since girls don't get a lot of 'sport', and nobody says 'buck up' these days.   
  
  
  
"But I am here," I muttered. I continued to stare at the picture, glaring at it sourly. I searched my mind for something to blame on Spike, but came up with nothing. I got the sensation that meant the back of my head was being stared at; I'd made Shin uncomfortable in his own room.   
  
  
  
"I've got my own bed, you know," I suddenly said. "I really don't like this…asking for a bed when I've got one—Jerry was right, I should go home." I turned around to see if this had any effect on him, wondering if I'd be able to see the relief in his eyes at the thought of getting me out of everyone's way.   
  
He shrugged. His eyes were closed. "Better not, there might be a mark on your head."  
  
"Oh…right."  
  
There was another one of those long pauses, but then, with much shifting of limbs, "Also…It might be a better idea to wait for Ms. Gatsby."  
  
"Why's that?" I asked, even though I knew it was a good idea. Faye wasn't too nice about it, but she always looked out for me, and I needed all the extra eyes I could get.  
  
"Well," Shin explained. "Leaving without her looks like you're leaving her to us."  
  
"Getting out of her way, more like. Faye doesn't get left to things."  
  
"It would also make it appear to the others that she's here to stay." I didn't see his point, and Shin probably could tell by my expression. He went on without waiting for me to add comments. "The thing is," he said, starting to get that weird nervousness in his skin, "some of the boys are afraid of her."  
  
I laughed out loud. "Of Faye?" it felt strange and good to smile. "I mean, she acts a little scary but she's not dangerous if you don't threaten her."  
  
Shin shook his head again, quickly, as if trying to ward off something invisible in the air. "It's not like that it's…" he trailed off, and I could tell he was at a crossroads to tell me something. "They aren't scared in the sense…well no, it's-- Never mind," he finally decided on. He did a blink-rapid glance at the photos on his dresser. "Just look at it like an old sailors' superstition. There's a lot in the Red Dragons who think women are bad luck."  
  
I laughed. "Even me?"  
  
"It's more Faye's type…no offense."  
  
"None taken," I assured him. "Leather beats lace, right? Even though, ironically enough, paper beats rock…"  
  
Conversation was choppy after that. Into another silence, I remembered Shin once mentioning that Spike had told some interesting stories about Faye. Stories that probably inspired the 'bad luck' thing. Hoping for both a conversation piece and entertainment, I asked Shin to tell me one of the anecdotes.   
  
He was half way into a weird one about Faye joining a cult when I dozed off, and the next thing I knew the woman herself was shaking me awake.  
  
"C'mon, we're late," Faye groaned. She shook harder. "Have you ever tried to wrestle breakfast away from a room full of boys? I'm giving you five seconds and then you're on your own."  
  
Groggy beyond belief, I barely registered this. I opened my eyes to find the light patchy above me. Confused, I quickly sat up straight and realized that I was still in Shin's room. I'd fallen asleep in the chair, and apparently I'd also burrowed into the pile of dirty laundry some time in the night. Faye took one look at me and burst out laughing, simultaneously pulling a necktie from my hair.   
  
"So," she suddenly said in a low tone of mischief. "Spent the night in here, did you?"   
  
"Ya," I deadpanned. "Did the dirty on his laundry, fucking most romantic night of my life."  
  
"You're cranky in the morning."  
  
"Ngghh…" I stood up, my back aching from sleeping in a high-backed chair for too long. I stretched my muscles, and winced periodically. Faye watched with her head tilted to the side.  
  
"You get hit?" she asked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
She motioned to my shirt, and for the first time I noticed there was a large, bloody stain on the side. "I don't think so," I replied, startled. I felt under the fabric, just to be sure. Nothing. "Must be yours." Probably from when I'd dragged her to the hotel, leaned against my hip most of the way.  
  
"Mmm, right," she nodded, looking a little more somber now. She reached into the pile of clothes I'd used as a blanket and handed me a black trench coat. "Put this on, we're leaving after we eat."  
  
I took it and held it open in front of my face. It would go down to Shin's knees but probably to my ankles. "I should ask first…"  
  
"Shin left on assignment at least an hour ago," She assured me. Sensing my question, she added, "I know cause he came in to tell Spike he was leaving and that pretty much woke me up. Now put it on, he won't care and you can't walk around with blood all over you. Things like that make people call the police."  
  
"Fine, fine," I conceded as I remembered my own jacket was in the car. As I slipped my arms into the oversized sleeves, I remember Faye's own bloodied clothes from the night before. Her jacket wasn't on, but slung over her shoulder with her left hand, and I noticed that she'd replaced her ruined shirt with a button-up yellow one. Typical of Faye, the collar was undone, and the ends were tied above the bottom of her ribcage. She still wore her own black pants, and if the blood had soaked through them I couldn't see a stain.  
  
Arriving at the door, I was surprised to see Spike in the hall waiting for us. He looked less than happy, a comical scowl on his face and his hands so deep in his pockets it evened out the wrinkles in his suit only to cause new creases. "What the hell took so long? If the egg rolls are gone by the time we get there, Faye—"  
  
"Takeout for breakfast?" asked Faye. My thoughts exactly. "Sounds good." Well, maybe not exactly….   
  
"Now Faye—"  
  
"Oh keep yer panties on, so what if we're a little late." With that, she strode down the hall, Spike and I following. When we got there she was leaning with a hand against the wall and the other on her hip, sending Spike a bright and smug smile as the door chimed open.   
  
  
  
We climbed into the car and I was happy not to be using the stairs for once in this building. The ceiling was mirrored, but when I looked up to check my hair I found Spike looking down at me with his eyebrows in a twist.  
  
"What?" I frowned as the door opened to the lobby. I was sure he knew I was the reason we were late for breakfast and was going to scold me or something. He didn't, though.   
  
  
  
"Kid," he stepped out of the elevator. "You've got a sock on your ass."  
  
~*~*~  
  
  
  
The first thing I noticed was that the noise immediately stopped when we entered the hotel conference center, also known as the acting cafeteria. The room turned silent, with patches of mumbles and whispers—then, as the men realized their suspicious behavior, they came back louder than before all in a matter of microseconds.   
  
I narrowed my eyes and wondered if it was an omen of some kind. When I checked to see what Spike and Faye thought of it, they weren't there. They were ahead of me, heading for the kitchen doors and having an argument of some kind. They'd moved on from egg rolls to chow mien, and seemed to be in a power-walking race. Apparently they hadn't noticed the change of atmosphere…either that, or they had, and didn't care, or perhaps were even expecting it.  
  
Grumbling gibberish for lack of anything better, I tromped after them. The hotel kitchen was state of the art via two decades ago, and staffed with some of the younger, subordinate Dragons who were basically in charge of sticking the Happy Panda cartons into the microwaves.   
  
There was a lot of food, but actually less than I expected considering how many Red Dragon members there were combined with the average male appetite. There'd only been two dozen or so in the conference room, so I assumed the rest were off some where doing Syndicaty things like Shin. I asked about it, and a guy standing at the sink began complaining about the big crowd as he stuffed another plate into the washer.   
  
In the center of the room, running from one wall to the other with just enough walking room in between, was a gigantic stainless steel table that I could only assume real chefs would prepare things on. Then, however, it was littered with the little cardboard cartons and Styrofoam boxes of delivery food. I fished an unopened pack of chopsticks from the pile, split them, and hovered over the selection in hopes of finding an untouched carton.   
  
Orange chicken and assorted vegetables was what I ended up with. Further down the table, Faye had pushed the boxes out of her way and sat on the surface with her legs swinging. She was trying to eat her chow mien and fend off Spike at the same time, sending him death glares as he jabbed at her noodles with his sticks, an egg roll between his fingers. I busied myself with my own breakfast until I heard a sharp cry. Spike, with a wide smirk, had stolen the noodles right off of Faye's chopsticks and she began to scream at him for a piece of egg-roll.   
  
I recall thinking: Enough for both but they don't share, what is this, preschool with guns?   
  
After such a trying day before and little, uncomfortable sleep, Spike and Faye were starting to annoy me and I should mention it takes a lot to push my buttons. I indulged myself with the fantasy that if I heard "egg-roll" one more time, I'd take my chopsticks and go Jackie Chan on their asses. The scenario went on in my head until I'd eaten enough to wake myself and improve my mood.  
  
"I don't see what they're all so nervous for," a voice behind me muttered.   
  
I turned around in my seat, and just about shot rice out of my nose trying not to laugh. It was Bellboy Bill—only this time he was in a Catholic Schoolboy's uniform, complete with a checkered sweater vest. "The hell--?" I managed.  
  
"Shove it, Jap, it's for undercover."  
  
"I'm Chinese, and you look like an idiot," I shot back. Bad comeback, I know, but going by his outfit I still had the upper hand, even in my bloody shirt and oversized coat. "What's the Syndicate want at a school?"  
  
"City bigshots' kids go ta St. Joseph," he muttered, stepping past me. He began to rifle through the Happy Panda cartons in search of whatever was left him. He found something—not sure what—and with a mouthful of it continued, "and you should be more respectful as I could be saving your ass."  
  
"How so, Mole?"  
  
He glowered at me. "Circle's after the Hearst girls, ri? Stands to reason that knowing who on the inside made the mark on you, this can end a lot faster."  
  
I glowered right back. "Stands to reason," I said, "that if the Circle's after us, then it's the leader who put out the mark."  
  
"Give the lady a prize," he rolled his eyes and stuffed more food in his mouth. "Now, for our lightning round, care to tell our studio audience just who that leader is?"  
  
I nearly dropped my chopsticks at this. "You don't ~know~ who's leading the Circle?"  
  
"If we did, this'd be over by now." He jabbed and poked with the chopsticks and I could hear their slimy scrape against the bottom of the carton. "Rumor is the new guy's got a kid, we've been runnin' reconnaissance for months on the Martian schools for high roller families, lookin for a name."  
  
"And I bet you fit right in, you yuppie," I smirked.  
  
"Go ta hell, Jap."  
  
I felt like getting angry at him, but when I remembered what Shin said the guys thought of Faye, I decided on a different tactic. "You know, Gatsby's Japanese," I said, trying to sound a bit off-hand, but fake enough. "Maybe she wouldn't like your slang."  
  
Bill snorted, and getting a look at him then I wondered if he was even younger than I'd first assumed. "So? I'm Polish, and she can scream Pollack till Armageddon and I still wouldn't jump as if she were some black cat."  
  
That was it. The conversation wasn't going how I'd planned, but I saw my opportunity and I jumped right for it without a second thought. "Why are some of the guys afraid of Faye?" I asked.   
  
I was looking for what Shin wouldn't tell me, and not because I felt it was important to know. It wasn't because I wanted every little detail of The Lives of the Rich and Mafia. I wanted to know, because when Shin hadn't told me, he'd gotten that look. The look I get too often to stand sometimes. I don't know how to describe it—think of it like when your kid asks you about sex for the first time, and no matter how old he is your first instinct is to say 'you're not ready to know'.  
  
I'm all grown up, but nobody else sees it.   
  
Bill probably didn't see it either, that I was older than him, I mean. Even though it was only by four or five years, it was at the time of life when those kinds of numbers matter. But my age didn't matter to him. The good thing (and annoying thing) about Bill, was that he didn't give a damn how old you were, he still thought he was better. And because of this, whether I'd been a two year old or well into my forties, he'd give me the same answer. And although a brat, he was a good enough guy to tell the truth.  
  
Even if I couldn't really follow it.  
  
"The problem with those guys," Bill started, "and we're all lucky it's just a few, cause if the whole teams' brains were so warped this whole Syndicate would be flushed. But those few see Spike and they see Woman and they don't even look close 'case they've got one track in their heads and it reads something like Woman equals—-Julia…"  
  
His voice dropped suddenly when he said the name. His head whipped from side to side in what might have been panic, or at least extreme nervousness. From what I saw, it seemed to me he'd gotten caught up in the moment and was about to say something he wasn't supposed to. And that, of course, made me watch him even closer.  
  
His zig-zagging eyes found Spike, and there was obvious relief at finding his green haired boss occupied with Faye in Battle of the Won Tons.   
  
But me, I was excited now. "Who's---" and he cut me off right there, just by this look he gave me that should not be on the face of a boy his age.   
  
"Don't you mind about her," he ordered. It would have felt more threatening if his restless eyes had made contact with mine. Not even looking at his meal, he continued to stab at the carton until the sticks poked a hole in the greasy cardboard. He stared down at it for a moment, then continued to jab as if he hadn't noticed, while he continued to talk. "The only thing you should mind is your own business."  
  
I frowned. I got the point, he could've written it in the sky to be more discrete. I'm not an idiot and I understand that some things aren't meant for me to know, that there are private lives, that there are skeletons in closets. That there are things that should stay buried.  
  
Buried…  
  
And then I remembered my trip to the graveyard. The tombstone Faye pointed out to me rose in front of my mind's eye long enough to read the name. I looked up at Bill, the poor nervous kid, and some bitchy part of me thought 'I'll make him squirm…just for a second.'  
  
With a quick glance to make sure Spike wasn't paying attention, I whispered, "Are you talking about Julia Buchanan?"  
  
I didn't get the squirm I'd sadistically and stupidly aimed for. I was too surprised to call for Faye when he grabbed my arm fast as lightning and yanked me out the doors. He dragged me through the cafeteria and out into the empty hall, where he finally let go and I oriented myself again.   
  
"What the hell are you on!?" I snapped, cradling my wrist for dramatic effect. I hadn't expected that pull. I'd forgotten: kid or not, he's still Syndicate. Dragons come in all sizes, but never without teeth.   
  
"How do you know about Julia?" Bill demanded. I looked up and found him in a state of extreme agitated emotion.   
  
"Faye was lookin for Spike's grave," I mumbled out; it'd do no good to lie, and I couldn't think of a better excuse anyway. "She pointed out a couple plots…Julia's…some guy named Mao's… that's all I know, just the name." I glared into his face. "What are you so scared of?"  
  
His composure—most of it at least—returned with impressive speed. He shook his head. "Not scared. Just wondering who the fuck you were, for a second there, that's all."   
  
"What's that mean?"  
  
"It means most people outside the Syndicate don't know about her—hardly anyone knows her last name, I only got it on accident when I was filing papers," Bill was looking embarrassed now. Egotists don't like their bravado broken. "You go dropping names like hers to just anyone, and they're gonna think that Shirley Temple personality is just an act. They're gonna think you're up to something, since how else could you know?"  
  
  
  
So who had he thought I was—queen of the ninjas out to Kill Bill his sorry butt?   
  
  
  
"I don't know anything," I reminded him, deciding not to even ask who Shirley Temple was. "That's why I tried to get it out of you, I was just curious."  
  
He glowered, and the old attitude was back. "Like I told you, mind your own business," he growled, pretending to adjust his clip-on tie. "This is a bad place to ask questions—if you get too many answers you become a liability."  
  
"So, curiosity gets the cat assassinated?"   
  
"Bingo."  
  
~*~*~   
  
Starting the day off like that, I'd have rather had eaten something that was part of 'this complete breakfast'. But the Bill thing turned out to be okay. By throwing me off my rocker first thing in the morning, he reminded me that even though it was a new day, the factors of the day before were still at large and lying in wait. I didn't have the leeway to bitch and moan when I'd have to be on my toes because the plan for the day was now: "fix it".   
  
Faye and I were going to find Marla, and then find some way to fix this whole thing, and I couldn't forget that objective because it was the one thing I was going to be useful for. I knew Marla best, and for once, people were going to actually be counting on me to call her bluffs, warn them of her personality, and I couldn't be waiting my time joking with schoolboys, fake or otherwise.   
  
At least, that was what the pep-talk I gave myself into the bathroom mirror pretty much sounded like. I'd run off after the Bill escapade, not hungry but not wanting to just wait around. I found the public bathroom in the lobby and rushed in, telling myself that I was not hiding, but doing the productive thing and trying to get that blood stain off my shirt.  
  
I ended up locking myself in a stall and taking deep breaths.  
  
I don't think I was in there long before someone came in the room and knocked on my stall door. I opened it right away, and moved past the visitor straight to the sink to wash my hands, pretending I'd actually come in on business instead of a Brigit Jones breakdown.   
  
The guy asked me how I was doing and I didn't appreciate it at all. The visitor was another Syndicate Joe that I hadn't even met, and I really wasn't in the mood to make any more new friends.   
  
But it was interesting, at least. He asked me about Bill…he'd seen the kid drag me through the conference room and wanted to know if I was having trouble.   
  
"No trouble," I said. "He just can't take a joke, that's all. I made fun of his clothes."  
  
"Well I apologize for him, Miss Chen," said the guy. "Don't let the kids bother you, they don't know anything." And with that, he nodded politely and left.  
  
It took me a couple seconds to realize that the man hadn't just come across me---this was the ladies room and he'd come looking for me, specifically. Me, the woman who just last night Dragons were making catcalls at. I'd gone from 'Baby doll' to 'Miss Chen' in less than eight hours, clearly I'd missed something.  
  
I shook my head and corked my curiosity…for the moment. The inborn security a girl has known in the women's restroom since elementary school was now gone for me. I suddenly realized how scared I'd been to start the day, but as soon as I knew there was nowhere in this building to completely hide, I was more than ready to not only start the day, but get it the hell over with.   
  
When I resurfaced in the lobby, Faye was at the receptionist's desk on the phone. I didn't have to ask to know she was talking to Marla. We were going to have to sit down to her and somehow figure out a way to stop what she'd started, and wasn't sure what I should expect from her.   
  
"Somebody's looking for you," someone said. I looked up, it was Spike. His coat was on, and that could only mean he was coming with us to meet Marla— but wasn't drawing him out into the open what the Gold Serpent Circle wanted? Of course he knew that, but despite the prospect that he might be walking into a trap, he looked pretty refreshed…for Spike, anyway. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders just a little too high, and his cigarette barely clinging to his lips. "Guy asking if a Vivika Chen had a room here."  
  
I shrugged. "What'd you say?"  
  
"What any hotel would say," he smirked and turned mock-amiable. " 'I'm sorry, Sir, but we are not at liberty to disclose that information'."  
  
"Nice jargon."  
  
"He said the same thing." I raised an eyebrow and he caught it. "Care to say who it was?"  
  
Jargon—I'd learned that from Jerry. I replayed our warped conversation in my mind as I answered. "His name's Jerry McKelley, he's Marla's lawyer…I think the place he works for is Horris and Hallaway…might be Callaway."  
  
"Hearst was looking for you two?"  
  
"No, we checked in with her. It was just him looking, and I told him I was staying in Tharsis because I'd already paid for a hotel room…I never thought he'd start calling hotels. He must've called a lot of them, too, cause I know he doesn't have any way to trace a call."  
  
  
  
"Trimalchio lawyer?" he asked. "Does that mean no Syndicate connections?"  
  
"None that I know of," I shrugged.   
  
It later occurred to me that if Marla had made any contracts with the Circle's Standard Oil company, Jerry would know about it, but by then we were already on our way to a downtown pub to meet my boss. When we got to the car, one of the Dragon cronies opened the door for me (Bill was off spying by now) and I once again got a polite nod.   
  
  
  
Spike stayed outside the car, talking to our driver, and I used that opportunity to talk to Faye. "Did you see that guy?" I asked.  
  
"Not my type," she muttered. Her snideness lacked its usual ring, as if she was speaking automatically. I followed the train of her eyes and found Spike.   
  
I lowered my voice a little. "Are you worried?"  
  
"About that guy?"  
  
"About Spike," I said, and her eyebrows moved. "He shouldn't be coming with us, huh? What if it's a trap?"  
  
Faye crossed her arms and slouched down in her seat. "Marla's not subtle enough for traps," she said. Now, her eyes were on anything but Spike Spiegel. "He can take care of himself, anyway—- worry is just wasted on him."  
  
She obviously didn't want to talk about why Spike was coming with us, so I let her have that one without extra prodding and returned to my original point.   
  
"Faye, did you notice how that guy was nice to me?"  
  
"And that's bad because…?"  
  
"Not bad, just weird," I tried to explain. I looked out the window where the same crony was at Bill's usual post by the door. He seemed to feel my eyes on him; he looked in my direction for a split second, and quickly found the traffic light more interesting. "Last night they were shouting down the halls and today they're all gentlemen...it's creeping me out. It reminds me of how my family acted when Aunt Becky got out of rehab."  
  
Faye's eyebrows arched. She stared at me for a moment, and then abruptly began to laugh. "I know what it is," she chuckled. "You were sleeping in Shin's room, they think you're his girlfriend!" she started laughing again, louder and kind of like a guy.   
  
I felt my face scrunch up. "But I'm not!"  
  
"What difference does that make?" Faye countered, still shaking and grinning. "Shin's a top dog around here, they wouldn't take the chance of pissin off his lady."  
  
I opened my mouth to shout something, but Spike chose that moment to open the door and climb in. I slammed back in my seat and pouted like a preschooler, and as I was doing so things began to click in my head.   
  
Things like how Faye had spent the night in Spike's room, and the Dragons had skipped the catcalls and gone straight into a kind of fear. What the hell had a woman done to this place to make its employees so edgy? The Red Dragon Syndicate sure had a strange philosophy when it comes to women, and the confusion it caused me made me all the happier to leave, even if our destination was bound to be unpleasant.   
  
TBC  
  
Well I certainly didn't see this chapter coming. It wasn't in my orrigional outline, it kind of wrote itself. The main focus this time around was Julia's impact on the Syndicate…in which I pretty much turned them all into a bunch of superstitious wierdos…hmm… not quite what I was aiming for.  
  
Oh well, at the very least I hope I made it clear that although Vivika is ignorant, she's not exactly innocent. She's got her bitchier side just like everyone else. I realized a couple chapters ago where part of her character comes from, and that's the news reporter character named Rachel (I think) from the CB manga, a girl who wanted to learn about the Cowboys and ended up way over her head.   
  
Anyway, I'm really swamped at school so I feel bad that I wasn't able to make this chapter as good as I'd have liked. I actually find that the information presented this time around decent enough, but I wish I could have focused more on Spike and Faye.   
  
But therein lies the trick, huh? I'm writing a story about Spike and Faye from the POV of a character who just cant physically be with them 24/7, and so every so often people will have to just deal with a section of the story which is just Vivika if I'm going to keep my realism, but don't worry I have no plans at all to let the OC take over this fanfic, no sir. (I mean, notice that even though this chap didn't have much Spike and Faye, it was pretty much all about the Syncicate so hey, still in the Bebop motif here!)  
  
So pretty much what I'm asking for with my long tangent, is forgiveness this time around. I know most of you wanted to see more Spike and Faye stuff, but it just wasn't possible to do this time around, but that will be plenty compensated for later on, believe me.  
  
I thought about getting a beta to look over this one, but I figure that since my updates aren't exactly the speediest things in the world, even if it's not the best job you all still deserve to see the chapter as soon as it's done.   
  
ANYWAY, I've got big plans for the next chapter because it's one of the turning points of the story, and if all goes well, Jet should show up—huzzah! 


	7. Gypsies Tramps and Thieves

Ugh, I am so SO sorry this took so very very long to post. You nice readers all deserve an explanation for what took me so long so here it is:  
  
My high school has a policy that seniors who get higher than a B in their classes don't have to take final exams, so at first my time was devoted to school and keeping my head above water. Then graduation rolled around and my time was devoted to visiting family members and prepping for the event. After that I started dealing with college stuff, shopping and papers to be filled and filed...and then I got the news that my first choice university would grant me late admission, so if you thought college itself was a lot of paper work, SWITCHING colleges before the school year even starts leaves you drowning in contracts!  
  
Not to mention that between now and the last update I experienced an anxiety attack, had to bug bomb the whole house, and my best friends ex started stalking her...so needless to say, I've been under a lot of stress.  
  
But everything's back to norm now, and although I've never been known for my updating promptness I'll definitely try hard as I can not to let such a big gap happen with this story again.  
  
And now, on with the chapter!

* * *

7. Gypsies Tramps and Thieves  
  
The Fox Cross Pub isn't even genuinely Irish, but it's got one of those harp things on its front sign. It stands out real well too, the only blue building on Elm Street and right at the corner of a busy intersection now. I visited the place a couple months ago, and the only change to it is that the blood's gone from the sidewalk.  
  
That morning last year, the Red Dragon car dropped us off around the corner from the place, and as soon as we all climbed out, Spike sent the driver on his way.  
  
"Why can't he stay here?" I wanted to know. My stomach, already too knotted, tightened again at the sight of the car disappearing over the top of a hill. "Shouldn't there be someone ready to get us out of here if the bad guys shows up?"  
  
"Circle knows what my cars look like," replied Spike shortly.  
  
"That guy'll be a sitting duck if he just waits for us," Faye explained further. "He'll circle the area and come back when we need him." I nodded, and stared up the road to wherever our ride had vanished. I would've liked to have brought one of those Kevlar-wearing guards with us, but of course he would've looked just dandy walking down the street in broad daylight.  
  
"Besides," Faye suddenly added, snapping me out of my thoughts. "I think Spike's decided to be more of an idiot than usual today."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well in case you haven't noticed, Vivika, Spike's not exactly a team player." The words she said sounded like a personal comment to me, but the way she said it was a flat out announcement. Faye had been walking with her eyes practically closed, but when Spike's shoulders hunched at her words, she smiled as if she could see it.  
  
"In case you've forgotten, wench," Spike replied loudly, so he wouldn't have to actually turn around and face us. "I'm perfectly capable of facing a Syndicate, should one be tracking that loony millionaire of yours. There's no reason to get the boy scouts involved."  
  
"I haven't forgotten anything," Faye murmured. I barely caught it.  
  
Meanwhile Spike had found the front of the pub. He stood outside the doors, staring up at the gaudy Fox Cross sign, which was plastic but painted to look like wood. There was a giant window, but the glass was painted over with a cartoon mural of a fox hunt/wine tasting left over from Summerpalooza '74 when the annual parade went down this street in June.  
  
Spike grimaced at a particular rendering of a basset hound with his paw round the shoulders of a great white horse, both animals smiling and the latter holding up a bunch of grapes. His neck hunched turtle-like into the collar of his jacket and I heard a funny noise emanate from somewhere between his neck and his stomach. "Remind me—why am I doing this?"  
  
"Because I have better places to be than here with you," snapped Faye, moving past him toward the door. "So the sooner Marla gets over this Red Dragons kick, the sooner you can go back to being dead and I can get on with my life."  
  
"You're inferring that I've somehow put your life on pause," Spike pointed out.  
  
"You have!" Faye growled back, pushing the door open.  
  
Spike sprung forward as well, indignantly ordering her not to blame her problems on him or something like that, but the next thing I knew the two of them were stuck: lodged in the door frame, shoulder to shoulder and shouting at each other like a couple of cartoon characters .  
  
"Move it, Faye!"  
  
"Didn't you ever hear of ladies first?"  
  
"Oh, is it that tired excuse again?"  
  
They stumbled simultaneously into the pub, face first, just as my forehead fell into my waiting palm.  
  
The inside of the building was actually not so bad. The bar itself was small, taking up a lot of the right side of the room. Cheap wooden tables took up the remaining space. They looked kinda like picnic tables with half the length, sporting checkered cloths and uncovered, unlit candles.  
  
My companions stomped past these tables and headed right for the bar, Faye shouting out her order before even sitting down: "Something hard and cold," with the implied 'make it snappy, damn it'.  
  
Spike held up a hand as the bartended reached for a bottle. "Make hers a water, and a beer for me."  
  
"Hey, where do you get off changing my order!?" Faye snapped, slamming her hand over the top of the glass set down in front of Spike. "I can drink what I want!"  
  
Spike shrugged. Despite her yelling, he seemed more concerned with the fate of the drink held hostage underneath her steady palm. He shifted quickly, and with one hand he caught her wrist, while retrieving his glass from her clutches with the other. "Remember those pills I gave you?" he asked, taking a couple giant gulps. "No caffeine or alcohol for at least forty-eight hours unless you want some nice convulsions to go with that martini."  
  
"Um, sorry," I popped in, taking the stool on Faye's unoccupied side. "But wasn't Faye already pretty drunk when you gave her those pills?"  
  
"Were you?" he asked archly, smirking just a bit. "And here I thought it was just a concussion—but guess I didn't smell it since we were using God knows what drink to disinfect you."  
  
Faye grabbed his glass and splashed the few sips left of the beer in his face, to which he licked his lips and grinned wider. "Lunkhead! You could've killed me, no wonder I didn't sleep well---and get that away from me!" She swung and missed at the bartender's hand as he attempted to serve her the water Spike ordered. "I want a virgin margarita---with one of those umbrella toothpicks to stick in this idiot's eye!"  
  
I assume they continued fighting after that, but to be honest I tuned them out. I became a little preoccupied trying to squint around the darkish tables, attempting to locate Marla. According to Faye, my boss said she'd show up first, but looking around I saw no signs of her.  
  
I didn't think too much of it until I tried her on the comm. and got no answer---that woman has never turned her phone off as long as I've known her. Just hearing the unending dial tone in the receiver sent my stomach into an awkward shift, giving me an angry sense of foreboding. I turned around and reached as far over the counter as I could, managing to tap the bartender's shoulder with the tips of my fingers.  
  
He looked up at me, and his left hand automatically reached for an empty glass. I decided to speak up before he could serve me something I didn't order.  
  
"Hey hi---last night there was a woman in here: tall, brunette, kinda loud," I lifted my hand up to show my boss's height. "Do you remember her? She was screaming into her phone if that helps..."  
  
The bartender gave me an eye-motion that was somewhere between a squint and a blink of his small, puffy eyes. I began to run through various movies in my brain—ones where the bartenders are all wise thirty-somethings with a hard but sympathetic look about them. This guy...nothing like that. The bartender gave a grunt that seemed to match his sweat-stained white T as he lifted a pudgy hand and pointed up. "She's with Hasbro," he said, and there was no further elaboration.  
  
I followed the direction of his finger, but of course my eyes only found ceiling.  
  
"Are there apartments upstairs?"  
  
"Up. Turn right. Number eight."  
  
"Yeahh..." I gave him a nod as I caught sight of the stairs near the back of the room. "Got it, thank you."  
  
I turned back to Spike and Faye to tell them I was going fishing upstairs. When I looked, I saw Spike sipping his second beer with an overly dramatic blissful expression, and Faye opening and closing her toothpick-umbrella in a threatening kind of way.  
I headed for the stairs alone.  
  
As I climbed, the mottled conversations of the room behind me became one, long murmured piece of white noise that I got used to so fast, the hallway at the top of the stairs felt nearly too quiet. When I found number eight, I knocked, but there was no reply. My stomach moved again, and instead of trying again at the door, I pulled out my comm. and dialed Marla. I could hear her phone ringing through the door. Over and over again, eight rings... ten ...fourteen... and still no answer.  
  
I was beginning to get a little freaked, because you see, this would be the part of the movie when the girl opens the door—and someone in the audience yells "Don't go in there!" but she does—and comes face to face with a room full of corpses and the hooded man holding a chainsaw—and the audience gets very smug.  
  
Slapping my forehead, I managed to quiet my imagination long enough to try the doorknob. It opened without a creak. Apparently Marla's voicemail had finally taken the hint and activated, so I didn't even have the obnoxious ringing to comfort me as I forced my feet through the door of a very quiet flat.  
  
The door didn't open into a room, but rather a narrow hallway through which I could see a bit of a sunlit living room at the end. By compulsion, I stepped slowly, trying to be as quiet as I could despite knowing perfectly well one of two things was going on—one being that nobody was home and I could be as loud as I wanted, or two being somebody was in fact home, in which case I should've been calling out apologies for trespassing and assurances that I wasn't an ax murderer.  
  
But I was quiet. Feeling a little stupid, but quiet nonetheless. Even my own breathing sounded too loud, so I held it until I couldn't, and then managed to exhale as slowly as possible. I passed a door and peeked into a white kitchen that would've been spotless save for what can only be described as a cereal explosion—O's everywhere. I had to stop short to avoid slipping on a small puddle of milk just as the hallway ended for the living area, and it was a good thing I did, because just as I halted something large swung downward right through where my face would've been.  
  
I cried out in surprise, falling backwards and landing with an ungraceful rattle that upset my glasses—yet I still recognized the familiar silhouette that was holding...I pushed the frames back up on my nose...yes, it was Marla and she was holding a guitar.  
  
And holding it rather wrong. She must've tried to swing it like a baseball bat, with her grip on the end of the stringed handle, but she put all her weight into pushing one, wide arc. That way, when the instrument rushed down and failed to connect with my head, it sent my boss completely off balance. She twirled uncontrollably in one odd circle before landing on her ass in front of me. The guitar hitting the ground singing broken chords, and the puddle of milk lay between us.  
  
"Vivika?" Marla blinked.  
  
"Are you crazy?!" I shouted, and my cry was soon joined by a panicked exclamation of: "What's going on out here?" Our shoulders hunching simultaneously, Marla and I turned with guilty expressions to face the blonde man standing in the living room, out of breath and wearing only half his pajamas.  
  
I managed a shaky laugh. "You must be Hasbro, um....hi..."  
  
The poor, rattled fellow opened his mouth, but Marla spoke up smoothly. "Sorry baby, I thought she was somebody else," she assured him. She lifted herself to her feet, bending in all the right places, and I noted that she wore nothing but a crazily-buttoned men's blouse over her underwear. "Go back to bed, I'll just talk to her and send her home so we can have us a private—breakfast."  
  
Hasbro settled, but to his credit still seemed a bit put out. Before retreating back to his room, he leaned down fast and snatched his guitar in a possessive grip, sending Marla a look that clearly indicated he expected something good from her in return for swiping his piece.  
  
"He seems...cute," I observed, taking my boss's offered hand and allowing her to pull me to my feet—heels dragging through the milk puddle a little.  
  
"He's dull—especially for a musician," Marla muttered, untangling the edges of her borrowed shirt from the straps of underwear she appeared to have put on backwards.  
  
I spotted her skirt on the floor near the couch, and I headed for it. "I didn't think you went for the dull type." The one thing she takes less seriously than a man who wants to date her, is a man who can't even show her a good time.  
  
"I don't, but when you said I had a Syndicate on my ass...well! What was I supposed to do?" She growled, tossing her shiny hair like a miffed model. She flopped down on the couch, leaned over a bowl on the coffee table, and began shoveling Cheerios into her mouth in agitated movements that spilled even more milk on the floor.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" I handed her the skirt, but instead of putting it on she seemed happier to use it as a napkin.  
  
"You said the Dragons were after me, didn't you?"  
  
I nodded in confirmation, the first squirming of guilt and dread heating the skin of my neck as I decided to let her continue her story before I undid my elaborate lie and explained to her the more elaborate truth.  
  
"Well," she spoke with her mouth full and a white moustache, "You said to try and stay indoors—so I thought why not take that a step further, you know? Sooo, I decided there was no reason I even had to leave the building. Know the bar saying 'You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here'?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Well that's bull crap if there's a bed in the building. Wasn't hard to find out who in the place was a renter, and what did I get? Barstool entertainment, that's what!" she thrust her spoon forward as a sign of injustice. "A house musician who spent the discussion part of the evening whining bout how he got kicked out of a band called 'Neon Fonzie' for being, quote: 'too dead poet society' with his lyrics."  
  
"Fonzie?"  
  
"Happy Days."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The Fonz."  
  
"What are you—"  
  
"Forget it---anyway, I thought I was doing pretty good, ya know? Staying out of sight and all, but either I was being tailed before goin' in the pub, or somebody leaked, either way..." she trailed off there, probably expecting I knew what she was talking about.  
  
I felt my eyes narrow suspiciously, as if my face knew what was coming before the rest of me. "Either way, what?"  
  
"Either way, they found me," Marla clarified. She gave her cereal another confirming nod, and with a breezy wave of her spoon, pointed me toward the window. "See for yourself."  
  
I half got up, stumbled back into the cushion, then sprung to my feet and braced myself against the sill as I separated the blinds with the tips of my fingers. I waited one second...two....three...  
My breath released itself with a noise like a car motor.  
"There's nothing out there."  
  
"Wait for it," she assured me. "Every couple minutes it comes round. Probably waiting for me to step outside—can't figure out how come nobody's parked and just come in for me."  
  
Sighing, I kept to my post. Part of me wondered what the heck Marla was getting all antsy over, while the other and better part didn't want to find out. The blinds had been closed with an upward slant, and I had to stand up on tit-toe to get the best view of the street below:  
Litter, a couple hobos shishkababing some kinda road kill, man arguing with a meter maid in front of his ugly illegally parked zipcraft, Spike's car making a pass, three old guys arguing over a deck of cards...  
My fist crawled up to rest against my hip.  
"What exactly am I looking for here?"  
  
I heard the rustle of what little clothing she wore as she stood, and with a clang set down her bowl. "Black car," she prompted. She sounded distracted, and even with my back turned I could picture her standing there, staring at the dirty dishes, wondering what to do with them, and why weren't they cleaning themselves? "Expensive looking, but if you look reeeeaaaal close—"  
  
"Just how close?"  
  
"Camera phone. Excellent zoom. Anyway—you can see there's a New Year's dragon for a hood ornament, and some kinda Chinese instead of a license plate number."  
  
"And that means...?" But I already knew what it meant.  
  
"It's the Red Dragon Syndicate!" Marla bellowed, and I thought I heard Hasbro grumble from behind a nearby door. "Duh."  
  
I felt my face get cold. I assume that means I looked pale.  
  
"But don't worry..."  
  
Oh crap. Please don't say--  
  
"I called the Gold Serpent Circle to take care of them."  
  
Fuck.

* * *

Once upon a time there was a little wooden puppet. Every time he would lie, his nose would grow—-oops, forgot to mention that this puppet was alive, huh? But I'm guessing you already know who I'm talking about.  
  
Anyway, the puppet. His nose would grow when he lied. Nobody was quite sure why...it may have had something to do with the cricket thing he paled around with not doing his job, or it could've been a byproduct of the spell that made him live, or perhaps it was just a freak accident that the tree he was built from hadn't quite died yet and tried to grow at it's own leisure---you know something? It really doesn't matter.  
All you have to know is that every time this tree-kid would lie, his nose would grow, and get bigger and bigger until he told the truth.  
  
Now then, Marla always liked to go off on how it was a metaphor for men and their own "wood", but I prefer to take a less "mentally scarring" approach.  
I think the nose thing was a good, simple warning that when you lie, there are consequences. These consequences usually won't come in the form of major plastic surgery, but to each his own punishment.  
  
At any rate, my point with Pinocchio was that every time he lied his nose grew—no matter what lie he told. It was supposed to instill the belief that lying was wrong. Well. I don't know about you, but that's not how I was raised.  
  
Sure my parents started out that way: 'Blah blah George Washington yada yada 'cannot tell a lie' et cetera learn by example, Vivika,' and everything like that. But then, of course, came the inevitable day when my foot met my mouth and I told my older brother that his prom date had beaver teeth right in front of her.  
  
After my brother coaxed her out of the bathroom and into the limousine, my parents sat me down and explained to me that there were good lies and bad lies. White lies, and regular type.  
"Sometimes it's okay to lie," they said. I asked how I would know when those times were, to which they replied: "You'll understand when the situation presents itself"—and who, may I ask, talks that way to a four year old? Not that that matters. What does matter, is that my parents were wrong. They said I would know the difference between a good time to lie, and a bad time, but I never learned—I never learned because there is no way to know.  
  
There's no possible way to figure out which lies will float away, and which will circle like a boomerang to smack you in the ass. No telling what's going to be damaged later for a passing fib in the present. No predictable nose-growing—-no way to know the consequences.  
  
The night before I met Marla in her one-nighter's apartment I told her a lie. I told her the wrong name of the Syndicate that was after us, and why? Just because I'd had a long day, and didn't want to deal with a longer explanation. What did that lie get me then? A lopsided, but otherwise decent night sleep.  
  
Where did it get me the next morning? Dragging my boss down the stairs by her wrist, as fast as I could go. She was barely dressed, with her unzipped skirt flapping against her bare thighs and a stolen shirt, wrinkled on her torso. A puffy coat (also stolen from Hasbro) barely concealed the katana. She screamed something—she screamed a lot of things, actually, none of which I can recall.  
  
However loud she screamed, my mind screamed louder. Thoughts traffic jammed in my brain until they tried to escape through my eyes, and I wanted more than anything to cry them free.  
I'd messed up.  
  
Oh God, I messed up!  
  
I'd been a good girl through all of the nonsense. I'd stood by while Faye bitched at a mob boss. I let her drag me through graveyards and bars. Before that, I let my boss lead me into a pit of snakes disguised as an oil company. I'd been shot at, knocked unconscious, and threatened by a teenager—all of this with exceptional composure considering the circumstances!  
I'd been good. I stood by...I didn't get in the way, I gave them all their space—unless they needed me, and then I was right there! I'd been doing so well, and then...  
  
I lied. Just a motion in the day that rippled into something bigger, and more fatal. We came to meet my boss, to arrange for her to cut ties to the Circle so they couldn't get to Spike, but instead Marla called them right to the doorstep without even realizing what she'd done.  
  
I ran so fast I couldn't stop. My ribs smashed against the bar, and Marla careened—ironically—right into Spike's lap, which knocked his stool to the floor. Faye caught my arms, and I dangled there with my legs limp, hanging from her hands like a monkey as I stared into the red eyes of the Dragon leader who glared back from the ground.  
  
I knew it was all for him. At any moment, the windows of the pub might shatter into a billion pieces, just as the windows of our car had the morning before. Bullets might come whirling in, and they'd be looking for him.  
And if just one of those bullets connected, it would all be my fault.  
  
His eyes were so red...

* * *

"Okay so let me get this straight..." Faye growled as low as she could while still being audible. "You called the Circle, when?"  
  
"Just before Viv showed up, soo...bout ten minutes ago," Marla chirped distractedly. She was casually walking backwards along the sidewalk in front of the rest of us, giving Spike a once, twice, thrice-over. "Funny," she observed, "I pictured you taller."  
  
We'd exited the bar as fast as we could without looking suspicious, which still almost didn't happen as that dense bartender couldn't seem to grasp the idea of letting us use the back door. Then we turned into the alleyway, and wondered through the back roads, trying to keep to streets that were big enough for the car to still reach us, while covered enough by building roofs to give any Circle ships trouble if they tried to find us from the air.  
  
"All right, ten minutes," continued Faye. "They could definitely be anywhere by now—and speaking of locations, LUNKHEAD WHERE IS YOUR CAR?!"  
  
Spike shrugged. He looked tired, and wore a kind of 'why me' design on his long face. "Faye, I really have no idea," he drawled, although he only sounded half awake and a quarter interested. "So for the love of your stupid ponies, stop asking."  
  
Meanwhile, I was trying to disappear inside Shin's coat; I even took it one step further, and ducked into Spike's shadow as I stumbled along in the little space between his bony elbow and the buildings beside us. So far, everyone was focusing on the present, trying to get to the car before a squad of Syndicate cronies came barreling down the street, guns ablazin like before.  
  
So far nobody had mentioned my mistake, and the suspense made me feel twisted up, chilly and off-center. Who knew what would happen if they got angry at me---I was palling around with some very violent people here, running away from others even more dangerous than present company.  
Marla, however, didn't seem to grasp the image—or she didn't care, both are likely. "So..." she clicked her tongue, beginning to eye Spike again. "You're one of the good guys?"  
  
Spike made one of his funny noises as he grimaced down at her. "Believe me lady," he said, looking annoyed. "I'm not a good guy."  
  
"Think I heard that in a movie once," Marla clicked her tongue again. "But great. Thanks, this whole thing isn't confusing at all." She tried to catch my eye, but I pretended I didn't notice. I didn't think that pinch in my stomach would lighten any by attempting to explain the situation. I heard my boss heave a sigh, and I wasn't disappointed as she moved on to another subject.  
"So when the car gets here—where are we going?" Marla asked. She was still walking backwards despite how much more difficult it was getting with all the litter in the backstreets.  
  
"Depends on how lucky we are," answered Faye, before putting all of her focus in doing something with the clasp on her gold bracelet.  
  
Spike continued for her. "Base is on the other side of town—I called for backup but with traffic this time of day the best we can hope for is meeting them half way."  
  
"And we might not even be able to head for the hotel if too many Circle guys show up," Faye reminded him. She'd lost that cheeky tone; all of a sudden, Spike and Faye were all business. "What have we got to work with?"  
  
"There's plenty of guns in the car, if we can get to it or it to us before company arrives," said Spike. "Not that it matters if it ends up with you, me and Mike (that was the driver's name, Mike) against a squad--- unless, these girls can fight..." He sent me a humored kind of look that made me positive Shin had told him how I'd acted back at the graveyard.  
  
"But if we can't get to the car, then it's just us with no means of escape and two guns to cover four people," Faye spat. I noticed that she didn't include Vicious's katana with the artillery, so I quickly sent Marla a warning glare before she could mention it. "We're gonna need a place to hide—any suggestions?"  
  
Spike looked around and shrugged. "Climb the fire escape to some apartment building and break into a room, I don't know," he muttered hostilely. "You're the one who's been dodging loan sharks for years, you tell me where to hide."  
  
"This isn't my town, Lunkhead," Faye bit back. "Besides, bill collectors want their money so unless they get really pissed, they don't shoot to kill---but these guys want you dead, Spike!"  
  
The two continued to go back and forth, arranging something definitely at the midpoint between an argument and a battle plan. Whatever strategy they'd gotten close to deciding on, however, was blown to pieces when Marla spoke up.  
  
"Hey you guys," she said, still walking backwards yet focused on something she could see between Faye and Spike's shoulders. "I think somebody's fol---"  
  
Bang.  
  
Just like in the movies.  
  
The shot rang out and she fell backwards, hitting the ground before her voice had even left my ears. For a moment, my mind couldn't work out what happened---and my confusion was made worse when Spike pulled me to the ground and in the process I knocked my temple against the brick wall. During the next few seconds, my mind paralyzed and left me nothing but the ears. I heard the close booms as Faye and Spike shot back at our assailant, the only slightly further claps from the enemy—and then a scream as he, too, fell.  
  
The cloud in my head lifted, and I saw Marla sprawled on the sidewalk with a growing red stain on her side, laying still and, eeriest of all, silent. When I tried to shake my head to clear the image, I found my spine stiff and I realized that even during my brief blackout I'd been staring at this funny little pale thing my fiery boss had become.  
  
I finally got out a very belated, "Oh my God!"  
  
Faye sent me a quizzical glare, but quickly returned to checking Marla, a hand on her neck and wrist. I leaned until I tipped myself onto all fours, and tried to crawl over to help. My hands shook, and although I braced them against the ground, tremors shot up my arms and tried to bend my elbows as I prowled closer.  
  
"Is she d-e..." my throat wouldn't let the word come out.  
  
"She's alive," replied Faye, and the relief was so great it felt as if my muscles had turned to liquid inside me. I was barely able to keep my arms from collapsing and sending my face into my boss's bloody abdomen.  
  
Finally able—and needing-- to take my eyes off Marla, I looked around. The alley we'd been walking down had forked into a few connected alleys, like a garbage and homeless covered maze behind the apartment complexes. Spike had pulled me down into a narrow corridor between two buildings, and judging from the red smear on the asphalt Faye had dragged Marla from out in the semi-open to hide with us.  
  
"That guy wasn't alone," came Spike's voice from above me. He was the only one standing up, his gun at the ready. Our sentinel.  
  
"What do we do?" I asked, managing not to squeak. A whole army of Gold Serpent Circle goons was probably on their way, and Shin wasn't coming to our rescue this time. Not to mention that if Spike's driver had still yet to answer his call, which probably meant that Mike had been captured, killed, or at least kept from the rest of us.  
  
I jammed my head up in a harsh angle and faced Spike. "You can get us out of this, can't you?" I demanded. "You're the Dragon Slayer—you've faced more than this, you have to do something!"  
  
Spike stared down at me with a glare that pierced right through me to land on Faye, to whom he addressed his reply: "Darling, the baby wants you."  
  
"Shove it, Spike," she snapped impatiently, and at the same time grabbed my wrist and slammed my hand on top of a soggy cloth that covered Marla's wound. I felt blood between my fingers and barely stopped myself from gagging on reflex. "Put pressure on it," ordered Faye before standing up next to Spike, her gun already present.  
  
Marla gave a struggling moan, and I felt a sharp split inside me between the part that was happy to hear her voice, and the terror-filled rest of me that feared the pain doused in the sound. Desperate to take my mind off it, I shut my eyes tight and focused on the voices of my other companions.  
  
"How long ago did you call your ship?" Spike was asking. They were both poised with guns a ready at the mouth of the corridor, facing opposite directions and very nearly back-to-back.  
  
"I'd say about four minutes ago—but it's parked in Trimalchio, so it'll take another five or six to get here," replied Faye. "How long do you think we have?"  
  
"That depends. The guy we took down was probably sent to track us. I bet he only shot Hearst because she noticed him. If his buddies heard our gunshots then they could be getting into position to kill us right now, but if he was checking in by phone we might have until his next expected check- in time before the Circle sees he's missing."  
  
"But a Circle team is still close, right?"  
  
"That's definite," confirmed Spike. "My car would be here by now if they weren't. So think you can fit that woman in the Red Tail without killing her?" I didn't like the sound of that question; if Faye's ship might not be able to fit Marla, how was it going to fit the rest of us?  
  
"I think so," Faye answered, a bit hesitant. "But where do I take her, back to the hotel? A hospital sounds too obvious..."  
  
"No," Spike murmured forcefully. "You bring a monocraft into that section of town and you might as well paint a bull's-eye on the building. I even had to park my own ship in a garage that's near here."  
  
"But where then?"  
  
Then came a long pause, which felt dangerous to me. I couldn't help but fear that the two most experienced of our party were in over their heads, and to make matters worse, Marla was breaking out into a heavy sweat and I knew that couldn't be a good sign. I turned to stare at Spike again, opening my mouth to once more demand he pull a slaying and get us out of this mess---but when I looked, I found his eyes already on me.  
  
"Jet," he said. "We'll take her to Jet."  
  
"Why are you looking at me?" I grumbled just as Faye asked, "He's in town?"  
  
"Kid," he said to me, "Did you know that yesterday afternoon your boss put out a hefty bounty on the thugs who shot up her car and forced her secretary into hiding?" I numbly shook my head. Marla must've done it before I'd blamed the whole thing on the Red Dragons.  
  
"Twenty-five million, it was all over the news," Spike elaborated, now facing Faye and wearing a devious kind of grin. "Think the old dog went for it?"  
  
She stared at him for half a second, looking almost shocked, but then her lips curled into a smirk to match her partner's. "He always parks at the Tharsis docks."  
  
Spike looked satisfied. "It's settled then," he said. "We'll have to go two to a ship—can you fly a zipcraft, kid?" Again I shook my head, now entirely lost in the exchange. "Then you're with me, get ready to run."  
  
All at once I found myself being yanked towards the mouth of the alley. "What? Where are we going?" Spike slammed a new clip into his gun and flashed me a sideways smile that made me certain he got kicks off my fear.  
  
"The Bebop."  
  
To Be Continued

* * *

More author's notes! Boy I love these things. This chapter has been brought to you by master editor Brigid, the letter K, and the number 3.  
  
Okay, I apologize if this chapter feels like it's lacking something. I know Jet was supposed to be in this chapter, but I planned a whole other scene before he shows up and if I added that scene to this chapter it would just go on too long.  
  
I'd like you to think of this chapter as part one of a joint-combo with the next chapter, which I promise will be up so much sooner than this one was (hopefully by end of July). I'm very excited about the next chappie--- battles in space, awkward homecomings, Jet's cooking, Faye angst, and flying lessons with Spike! O.o...  
  
Oh yeah, and notes on romance. Please stop asking me if Spike and Faye are ever gonna get together because there ARE. I promise! I'd show you all the story outline, and point out exactly where they get together, but that would ruin the ending   
  
And speaking of romance, last chapter, I was told through reviews that I hinted at a Vivika/Shin possible romance. I hadn't planned on that, but rereading ch. 6, I saw that perhaps I did. I don't yet if I'm gonna explore this or not, but I do want to assure you that I wont just make this an All-About-Viv story. I was into a fic that featured an OC, but then the OC took over and the results weren't good, so I know I don't want the same thing to happen with this fic.  
  
In conclusion, a HUGE thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers—and to those who email stalked me to tell me to get off my ass and write, power to ya! If you ever want to know how far I'm progressing, or just wanna yell at me, feel free to email me or check my livejournal (see profile). Shout outs to the FayeandSpike livejournal community!  
  
Now that you've suffered through my ramblings, review please! And have a happy fourth day of the seventh month of the year.


	8. Handle your Scandle

Here it is, FINALLY! Chapter 8, note the longness of this chapter. Yes, it's quite large, but it did it all for you! The readers, you attention whores you—wait, I think I'm the attention whore here. Hrm.

Anywho, the reason this chapter is so damn long is because it's got a little---nay—a LOT bit of everything! I have spaceship battles, and Jet angst and Spike angst and Faye angst and FayeSpike angst and problems with artificial gravity! Who could ask for more? If you ask, I'll shoot, I swear.

Enjoy!

8: Handle your Scandle

"You can't be serious."

"What?" Spike blinked.

I stalked over to the monocraft, noticing that each blemish looked worse close up, and I couldn't help but cringe at all the new scratches now visible. Even if Spike could get this...this object to start its engine, the marks looked like a bad omen for his driving skills. Not to mention one other problem: "Can two people even fit in that thing?"

Spike, now perched on the wing of his beast, looked down at me, then to the cockpit and back to me again. "She's called the Swordfish II," he corrected me, "and she's actually an old asteroid racer. She wasn't built for more than one person, but I've carried bigger bounties than you."

"Carried them how?" I narrowed my eyes in suspicion as I scanned the craft for any sign of excess space.

Spike scratched the back of his curly green head. "In the cargo hold, actually—or the really big ones got tied to the roof."

All I could do was sigh. "Cargo please."

The Swordfish II's 'hold' was actually a small gap between the pilot's chair and the thin bulkhead separating it from the back thrusters. It's a place to store spare fuel, flight suits, and other emergency equipment that a racer would drop in two seconds just to loose weight. Spike pushed the seat forward as far is it would go. It was still a snug fit, but finally the Chinese-Korean-Pilipino-Spanish genes that had barely allowed me to grow five feet were coming in handy.

He closed the hatch not a moment too soon, the sound of the vacuum seal mixing with the peppered ker-CHUNK's from the first round of bullets. "Son of a—" the roar from the powering engines cut off Spike's curse, as well as my scream when I realized there was nothing to hold on to. The Swordfish II pushed off with a force that shoved me against the bulkhead. The hold vibrated roughly like a two-woolong bed in a cheap motel. I was really too close to the engine for comfort; it felt as though I was locked in a metal safe, playing a game of Red Rover with gravity. Then the moment ended, and it only took a second for the pressure to release and my ears to pop. We were airborne.

"Why is it so rough?" I asked. The ship straightened out after finding a current, and I tentatively loosened my grip on the back of the pilot's chair.

"Rough?" Spike echoed, nearly sounding innocent. "Oh you'll get used to it."

"But I don't have a seatbelt!"

"Kid, that should be the least of your worries." Spike's words managed to help me loose even more assurance as he suddenly jolted us starboard. The sheen of bullets he'd mostly outmaneuvered still caught the edge of the wing, and we tipped a little. "Shit," hissed my captain. "That's why getting to the garage was so easy; they were using the time to get to their own ships! I really don't have time for this..."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Time for what?" I asked, curling my fingers around the mesh on the back of Spike's chair."

"We can't lead them to the dock," he answered, but he sounded preoccupied. I peeked around the armrest and saw him fiddle with some kind of switch on the dash. "Can't land before they're taken care of. Looks like we're takin this fight to the sky."

"FIGHT?!" I echoed. "I thought you said this thing was a racer!"

"Hey, she's got guns."

Suddenly there came a crinkling of static, and I could hear Faye's voice. "I've got three on my back, what about you?" When I peeked my head around the armrest, she didn't look too happy on the little screen.

Spike glanced at one of the radar dial-things. "Just two."

"No fair!" Faye exclaimed. "I can't even do any fancy maneuvers with Marla's condition!"

"Well," said Spike, "Good luck with that. Shorty and I got our own problems." He pressed a button and the screen turned off. The sound of Faye's voice was replaced by more gunfire coming from behind. And then the gunfire was in front.

It took me a moment to realize that the little monocrafts in front of us were not new ships, but the same two. Spike had yanked the Swordfish II in a 180 and decided to play a horrifying game of chicken. I screamed, he smirked, and just when it looked like flying between our enemy ships would chop the wings right off Spike's ship, he tilted her to the side, completely vertical. Before I could peel myself off the right-hand bulkhead, a loud explosion was audible over the roar of the engine.

"Now that's just pathetic," Spike murmured disinterestedly. He pulled one of those steering-joysticks and righted the ship so my butt roughly landed in its proper place.

"What happened?" I crammed my neck to get my face up to the half-sphere window and looked behind us. A large, grey cloud of smoke was just starting to dissipate. It looked like the remnants of a chunky firework, with spines mostly pointing down.

"Tried to graze us, but just ended up crashing into each other," Spike explained, his voice lightening the irony. I grimaced and turned my back to the smoke while my captain reached for the comm. "I took care of mine, Faye; where are you?"

"I got one, I can't shake the other two," she answered from the little screen at Spike's knees. "I just circled over the Gate Corp building for the hundredth time, I'm dodging skyscrapers over here---It wouldn't hurt you to help, you know, we've kind of got a deadline!"

"Is Marla okay?" I called.

"For now," Faye replied, her tone clipped. She opened her mouth to continue but it was a curse that came out as I saw her ship lurch on the monitor. "Spike you better get over here fast, I refuse to die just cause this woman's got a hole in her. I not gonna fly nice for much longer."

Spike leaned forward, pressing down on some lever as he did so, and the Swordfish II accelerated. "What about those missiles you got—the heat seeking ones?"

"Only in space, Lunkhead---I can't detonate those in a city, especially over a freeway!"

"O-kay then," Spike drawled, his voice betraying strained patience. "How about you leave the atmosphere and then use them?"

Faye's eyes widened for just a moment before she managed to correct the oversight and glare even fiercer. "Never mind," she growled, "I'll get out of this myself, see you at the docks." The screen went black.

"Oh great," Spike muttered, jutting his jaw forward. "I sense some feminine dramatics on the horizon."

My nose wrinkled at that. "Should I be offended by whatever you just said?"

"I don't know, probably a little," he shrugged. Spike then leaned forward, moving the controls along with his arms so that we soon lost altitude. He maneuvered the Swordfish II so that it flew low over the freeway, tracing the road much faster than the cars below us. Even though we flew by too fast to read a road sign, it wasn't difficult to miss our destination: the Gate Corp building. A giant monument of layered, glass geometry; and flying above it, Faye Valentine-Gatsby with two bug-like ships in her personal space.

With a movement that might have felt fluid had I been sitting in a chair, Spike lifted the ships nose and in seconds we were high above the buildings. We circled Faye's battle from an altitude more suited to observe than interfere. Spike watched the fight, but a rush of air on my legs caught my attention. "Why'd the vent turn on?" I asked.

"Life support compensation for the thin atmosphere," came the reply in distracted monotone. Spike frowned at something he saw below and began to look ticked off. "What the hell does she think she's doing?"

"Who, Faye?" I leaned up on my knees again and looked out of the pod. Faye and her company looked small from our lofty position, like moths sparring erratically around a light bulb. From what I could tell, she seemed to be out maneuvering the enemy zipcrafts. She ducked and dodged and zigged when they zagged; as far as I was concerned, Faye wasn't bursting into flames, so all looked well. "Wha'd she do?"

"Nothing."

"Then what's the problem?"

"She's doing nothing!!" and with that, we dipped straight down. I slammed chest first into the back of the pilot chair, the wind knocked out of me and my breasts in my shoulder blades. "Faye," Spike growled into the com, his tone now ominous. "Are you planning on dancing around all day?"

I was still stuck to the chair, and in such a position that I only got a half-view of the screen through Spike's poofy green afro. It wasn't a comfortable vintage point at all-—not to mention my front-clip bra was stuck on something. "Pull the ship up," I wheezed, but Spike didn't seem to hear. His attention was on our partner, who was trying to glare at him on the monitor while still keeping her eyes on two other ships.

"Will you sit on it, Lunkhead?" she barked, biting on a curse as the Red Tail jolted. "Marla's getting worse. I can't risk rocking the boat."

"But you can risk exploding?" Spike shot back. "Or flying in circles till your fuel runs out?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I have plenty of fuel."

"FAYE—" she turned off the comm. and the only one who heard the remainder of that very inappropriate scream was me. Still growling, Spike gave the blank communication unit a swift kick, and lowered the Swordfish II to the Redtail's skyspace. I gaped out the window at Faye's ship, nearly at eye level. Scratches and dents where the bullets hit the paint were visible, but I couldn't see the women inside as long as the sun was bright enough to make the windows tint.

The Redtail got closer and closer; but it was us moving closer to her, and not the other way around. I'd become so fixated on the hull's obvious damage, that it didn't occur to me until we were right on top of her that the Redtail was too close.

"Spike!" I shouted, but he'd already pulled up just enough to leave a foot or so of breathing room between the ships.

"Look back," Spike suddenly ordered. "Tell me if anyone's following."

"Uh..." edging around in my seat had gotten more difficult after all that tumbling, but I did it. "One of them's following. The other one is—wait! Faye's swerving...YES! She got 'em! The last guy's on our back."

I looked over my shoulder in time to see him nod, but then his head tilted back and he caught my eye. "Like roller coasters?" he asked, and I didn't like the way he asked it.

"Not in the slightest," I replied, and did my best to cross my arms.

"I think you're lying."

"I think you better not do whatever it is you're planning."

"Too late," he said, and we kicked into a tail spin.

All vertical. All spinning. A corkscrew dive that had me screaming until I had to close my mouth in case I vomited. "Do you know what Faye called me the first time we met?" Spike asked loudly while the quickly approaching city blurred into color and line, the Swordfish II the center of a rainbow vortex. I couldn't respond. I couldn't believe he was trying to make conversation. "She said I was a Bumpkin, who didn't know which way was up."

I pried my fingers from my lips and shouted as loud as I could: "UP IS THE BLUE PART!"

And that's all I remember of the fight.

I assume we won, as the next thing I noticed was the vibration slowing and stopping against my back. Disoriented, I didn't realize we'd landed until the pod opened with a hiss and cool but humid air filtered in. I knew this scent from outings to the fish market years ago: the Tharsis docks, western side, where the fish gut smell wouldn't blow to the yachts.

I heard gulls. My head hadn't stopped spinning yet, and for a lovely couple seconds I forgot all about my problems and tricked my brain into thinking this was a day at the beach. But then my eyes caught up. I quit seeing in quad, then double, and all too soon the big ugly world was right in my face again: completely blurred. I moaned and began feeling around for my glasses.

"What's your problem?" Spike muttered at my noise. The hatch was open, but he still sat in his chair, smoking. My problem? My problem was that in a couple hours I'd have so many bruises people might think I was some beaten, remedial hooker. My problem was my organs having trouble getting back in their places.

My problem was my closest friend in the solar system might die, and I'd just remembered and felt all the guilt for forgetting.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!?"

Apparently, I wasn't the only one with a problem.

It was a new voice that had yelled, and I felt grateful for not having the responsibility to reply. That was Spike's job, so I looked to him and waited. His hands still clutched the steering levers, but slowly he clenched and unclenched the fingers around the rubber grips before completely letting go. He sighed, but then inhaled the air back in with a breath that seemed to steady him, and stood up.

A millisecond later, he was out of the ship. His shoes landed with the smallest of clunks on the deck below.

"Yo," he said. I forced my jellied-legs to support my weight, and stood to watch.

Spike stood calmly, his shoulders sloped. One hand had raised itself in a short-lived wave hello, but it quickly fell back into his jacket pocket like a person who couldn't get out of bed in the morning. He'd waved to the man who stood in front of him, looking white as a surrendering flag.

"SPIKE?!" the poor guy looked like he'd just seen his furniture move across the floor. I wondered if he was really old, or if he just looked like it now because of our entrance.

"Jet," Spike returned, name for name. Then a long moment of awkward silence as the men tried to think of other things to say that weren't proper nouns.

The man, Jet, broke the quiet. He huffed, and crossed his arms. All traces of shock vanished from his face, and he frowned instead. When he did, he looked taller, gruffer, and younger even. From my lofty vintage point, I caught Spike's shoulders tensing.

"What'd you bring back?" Jet asked.

Spike smirked, but it was very small. Kind of...shy?

"I brought back the woman," he answered. His voice was cool and soft, an odd counter to Jet's tone. "It was my turn anyway."

"So no money then."

"Fraid not."

"What good are you?"

"Not a lot of good left in me."

"What is left in you?"

Shrug.

The sound of the fast-approaching Redtail cut the weird exchange short. Faye landed her ship in a series of fluid motions that seemed second nature, and almost at once her door opened and she slipped onto the deck. Marla, completely slack, toppled after her but Faye caught her by the shoulders.

"What the---who's that?" Jet demanded, the shock back on his face.

Faye threw a glare back at him and Spike. "A little help, boys?"

Jet rushed to assist, and I give the guy points for that. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, from the proper way to lift my injured boss, to the perfect 'my ship is not a free clinic' guilt trip that made Spike's shoulders hunch.

They all disappeared though a door I couldn't see from my angle. Voices, or the echoes of voices carried fragmented arguing into the hanger while I threw one leg over the side of the passenger pod. Getting out of the ship wasn't the same as getting in, and it wasn't long before I discovered that you cant disembark a zipcraft as one would dismount a horse. I finally reached the deck with a fresh new bruise to add to my collection, and when I arrived in the "living room" my companions were almost finished.

Well, Jet was almost finished. He was the one winding gauze around and around Marla's torso. Faye, at least, kept up the illusion of helping by holding the patient steady. Spike seemed to be getting a lecture.

"You know, I can help..."

Jet made a noise that even I couldn't mistake the meaning of.

"You said it," Faye smirked, then turned to look at Spike. She readjusted Marla in her arms as if to show off her usefulness. "You're always unconscious for this part."

"Not always—-and I wasn't talking to you," Spike held his glare on the woman a second more before turning back to Jet, who ignored him and kept wrapping. And wrapping. And wrapping and wrapping and wrapping. Either Marla was very badly hurt, or Jet needed an excuse not to talk, badly.

Finally, the roll ran out. Jet hunched his shoulders, anticipating. "I think she'll be okay," he announced. "At least she will if she makes it through the next couple hours. I'd feel better if we got some more blood in her though."

Spike grabbed a red-blotched rag off the coffee table. It had been set down between some bloody instruments and a tray holding the bullet. "I'll run it through the scanner."

"She's B negative." Everyone turned to look at me. They'd probably forgotten I was there (except Jet, who hadn't really met me) and I'd spoken up so suddenly I even surprised myself. I stared at my feet. "Her...blood type, that is."

"All...right," Jet recovered. "Spike, make yourself useful and see if I've got that in the freezer." Spike nodded, setting down the bloody rag before disappearing down a hallway.

As soon as he was gone, Jet turned in his chair and sent Faye a scary look. She tensed instantly, but remained expressionless. "Now you," he started ominously. "Mind telling me what's going on?"

Faye held silent eye-contact for a few seconds more, but then seemed to give up the effort. She sighed, and her body laxed away the composure she'd been keeping. She instantly stopped looking like a woman who'd been sleeping well. Her eyes flicked to her knees before moving back to Jet.

He sat there patiently, holding his glare very nicely and not letting it erode at all. Jet waited through her stalling as I shifted from one foot to the other, and finally Faye announced: "We're gonna need beer. Vivika, keep an eye on Her Majesty for me."

She stood up, Jet followed and I was left in the living room to wonder what to do. Sighing loudly, I tromped around the couch and looked for a place to sit. Marla's bloody jacket, with the katana wrapped securely inside, took up the chair and I had no interest in touching it. The coffee table was even worse, being covered with medical instruments among other pointy things, so I just stood there. And stared. There wasn't a lot else I could do.

I looked down at my boss lying on the couch, and in my head I was comparing. Comparing her to when Faye had been unconscious last night—was it just last night?--- and noticing how Marla looked a lot worse. I'd seen her completely sick after a kegger, I'd seen her after a nasty fall in a mosh pit, but I hadn't seen her ugly and I wasn't prepared for that.

Her mouth was open, and so were her eyes, but just a fraction. She saw nothing; she just lay there as a paralyzed sleepwalker. Her hair was matted and curling from the toxins expelled from her skin, skin that looked off-color as if she wore lead-paint makeup. Sweat covered her completely; she shone, and I had a theory that she felt like a fish.

Marla looked dead. I stared at her and it was more difficult to believe she was alive than not. Of course then I couldn't look any more. My body flashed warnings, telling me I had to be anywhere but in that room, because in seconds it would smell like a rotting corpse and I'd vomit.

I picked a direction and ran, nearly crashing into Spike but not caring about him. I didn't care about Marla either, I only cared about me and the fact that I'd been so close to so many bullets recently. It was suddenly very important that I find a mirror. I needed to make sure my skin still looked like clay, and not some off-green color.

All the doors in the Bebop looked the same to me. I couldn't find the bathroom, but I did find a secluded hallway where I could fall to my knees and try not to cry. With urgent, jerking motions I felt around my clothes until I found my communicator just where I left it. I lifted the phone to eye level, and started to dial, but when I noticed my hands still had Marla's bloodstains on them, I retched and dropped the comm.. Disgusted, but still without a place to wash, I carefully picked up the phone again by the antenna using my thumb and forefinger.

"Call Jerry at work," I ordered the voice command.

"Horris and Hallaway, Jared McKelley speak---"

"Jerry it's me!" I nearly melted with relief.

"Vi—"

"You were right!" I blurted, letting it all out. "You were right, you were right, rightrightright, I shouldn't have stayed in Tharsis---Marla made some deal with a syndicate and now she's shot--"

"WHAT? Slow—"

"And everyone's been shooting at me...but not at me, at Spike but I'm WITH him RIGHT NOW and somebody's just gonna kill me if you don't pick me up!."

"Calm down," he sounded like he was hyperventilating himself, "I'll get you—Marla's shot, you said?"

"Uh-huh..."

"So you're in a hospital?"

"No," I felt embarrassed to admit it for some reason. "They fixed her. Probably."

"Who did, and where are you?"

"Oh I don't know, some guy. I'm on his ship, at the docks by the fish market. The ship's called Bebop, like the Jazz stuff."

He told me to stay put, and he kept his line on. I sat with my back against the wall and my ear to the receiver, listening to him tell his secretary to cancel appointments. I heard a rush of static when he bumped into someone, and fragmented greetings from people he was probably passing in the hallways of that high-rise he works in. He ordered one of the company cars to meet him out front, but he hadn't even reached it before I felt the Bebop lurch underneath me.

"What the...?" I muttered, just as I realized what was going on. The metal paneled floor began to vibrate roughly in a kind of recently-familiar turbulence. I recognized it as a spaceship fighting gravity to gain altitude, we were taking off.

"What's wrong?"

"Um...the ship's moving."

"Wha—where?"

"Um..." Suddenly the wall behind my back started to move. I fell over on the floor, and opened my eyes to see the bulkheads on both sides of me moving, churning. For the first time I noticed that the floor in front and in back of me sloped upward. That meant the walls weren't just moving, they were spinning, and I must be in the Bebop's gravity wheel.

And if the gravity wheel was activated then---

I sighed, then laughed. A short, hard laugh that hurt my throat; I could feel the giggles that would follow and clenched my teeth together—it made the laughs like a croaked motor's purr. "Never mind, Jerry," I managed. Cold euphoria swept over me, and realized how silly I was being. I should've gotten out of the damn ship, hailed a cab and escaped. But no, I had to go make a bother of myself, and now I got my punishment.

"Are you...laughing?"

"Never mind, really!"

"Viv, if this is some sick joke---"

"No!" I breathed, forcing calm on my voice. "No joke, it's just—you can't pick me up, we just took off."

"W—at?" he was breaking up.

"I'm in SPACE!" I shouted.

I didn't get to hear his reply; my phone cut off, and I remembered my calling plan didn't include interplanet mobile to mobile. Putting my comm. back in my pocket, I closed my eyes, determined not to open them again until I'd completely calmed down. My stomach and spine ached from the laughter that wanted to explode to replace the tears I wouldn't free.

'Shouldnt've called him anyway,' I said to myself. 'I'd just suck him into trouble, it's good that we left Mars. We'll be safer now anyway.' It took so many deep breaths, but after a while, I regained control. I opened my eyes again and focused on the problem at hand.

And that problem was finding a way out of the gravity wheel when the doors appeared to be rotating by without stopping. I laid still on the floor, and watched as the walls and doors moved past me (even though it was really the floor that moved and the walls that stood still). It reminded me of being in kindergarten, spinning around in the schoolyard until I fell flat on the ground, lying motionless while the sky kept turning. It's hard to sit up from that position, as if there's a big weight on your chest that wont let go until the spinning stops.

Of course, the spinning doesn't stop in a gravity wheel, so after many many grounded minutes I managed to stand up. I figured out that the trick the navigating a moving hallway, is to walk at the same speed the walls are moving, that way the entire room seems to stand still. It was like walking on a treadmill. Speeding up a little would get me to a door, so I tried it, and held myself in place with the railing under the locking panel.

Thankfully, I'd found the right door. I nearly cried out with relief when I heard Faye and Jet's voices through the bulkhead. But then I made the mistake of stopping. My feet were torn away from the gravity on the floor and I floated in the air, holding onto a handlebar for support like a chimp on a cable car.

"Damn it!" I spat, wondering if it would be easier to just let go of the railing, or to try and regain my footing.

"Did you hear something?" someone said from the other side of the door. It had been Jet.

"No," Faye's voice replied. "Don't be so paranoid, I promise we lost those Circle guys before coming here. Spike and I made a point of it."

A steady clomping noise suddenly began to come closer, then further away, then closer again. Heavy steps, I noted. Jet must be pacing.

"So, Spike's really not back then," he said after a pause.

"Hmph." I knew that noise, Faye had probably crossed her arms along with it, or extended them in front of her to crack her knuckles. "Define 'back'. Wait, no. Of course he's not back, because he was never actually dead so he couldn't come back from anything."

"That wasn't what I—"

"I know." She sounded testy. Then she sounded weary. "I know---I've been hanging out with that bastard against my will, I just found out he was alive yesterday you know, so don't look at me like I left you out of some loop. Spike's the one that left us, remember?"

Pause. Long, long pause.

"What?" Faye suddenly asked. She said it in that uneasy tone that meant she was getting an accusatory look. "What are you looking at me like that for? I---JESUS!"

Something crashed.

"I wasn't looking at you like anything," Jet insisted. He stopped pacing.

"Oh yeah you were!" her voice went up and down; she was obviously fighting to control the level. "What did you think, that eight months ago I heard he was alive so I left the Bebop to find him and have wild, creative sex and make fun of you behind your back? I'm a victim too here!"

"We're not victims Faye," Jet replied quickly. "He didn't actually do anything to us."

Pause.

"He changed everything," Faye mumbled. They stopped talking for a minute, during which Jet's pacing started up again. "Hey Jet..."

Sigh. "What now?"

"Look," Faye said, and the tapping of her shoes accompanied her voice. She was walking towards my wall, I heard her close from right outside the door. "I know Spike's 'Spike!" and all...but I know how to be better than him. I'm gonna tell you why I left."

"You don't have to---"

"I am. I 'm going to tell you...not now, but I will do it. And you watch Spike, see how much better that him I've gotten."

There was no reply to that, and I suddenly realized that her words were a kind of closing statement for a conversation I probably shouldn't have overheard. Panicking, I let go of the railing and pushed away as hard as I could. I flew across the width of the wheel, and landed hard on my back where the floor's gravity caught me.

By the time the little lights cleared from my eyes, Faye was standing over me.

"Vivika?" she blinked. She sounded surprised, not indignant, so I was in the clear. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh thank God," I breathed, reaching a hand out. "Feels like I've been spinning around for hours, how do you get out of this thing?"

------

"So...um...what'cha cooking?" It was all I could think of to say. I hadn't wanted to sit in the common room and stare at Marla's bloody carcass for hours, so I'd picked the nearest door to swing my way and ended up in the kitchen. Now Jet Black was there, hovering over a wok and muttering to himself about ungrateful ingrates, and I wasn't sure how to make conversation.

"Bell peppers and beef," he replied, the directness of his voice surprising with the way it could catch me while his eyes stared elsewhere.

I nodded, but then realized he couldn't see it, even with all the pretense of eyes in the back of his head. "That's nice," I said. I kicked the back of one heel with the opposite toe, blew hair from my eyes, and stopped myself from repeating the last thing I said a few more times. A hiss of steam caught my attention as Jet began to toss the vegetables. My ears found the sizzles and pops especially loud, and difficult for my empty stomach to take without making noise. The bouncing peppers were hypnotizing, I was more than ready to pluck one out of the air and shove it in my mouth—there! There was a nice green one and...

I shook my head fast. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Jet nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise; the peppers, up mid-toss, were barely reclaimed. The poor old guy looked genuinely stunned when he turned to half face me with a suspicious look in his eyes. "You want to help?"

"Um...if you're one of those territorial cooks, I could just set the table or something..."

"Somebody on THIS SHIP actually wants to HELP with the COOKING!?" he didn't seem to be talking to be speaking to me as much as announcing it to an invisible audience.

"I...take it back?"

He laughed out loud, setting down the pan to take full advantage of the mirth.

It was nice, in an odd kind of way. His laugh was friendly, and very full; it made him look so much younger. "No, no..." he waved me off. "I don't need help just—" he paused to let a chuckle escape, "Just find those two idiots and tell them to make the table ready for food, it's gonna need disinfecting after all that blood."

"Okay," I nodded diligently. I felt strangely comforted by having a job to do. It took a while to find Spike and Faye--the Bebop may have been small, but I expect a toddler drew the blueprints. Nothing seemed to have a direct route, but just when I thought I'd gotten lost in the 49th storage room I'd encountered, I heard yelling that became my foghorn to follow.

As I got closer, the words became easier to make out, until they were very clear and only slightly distant:

"I'm telling you Spike, I'm not spacesick---just leave me alone!"

"Then why were you throwing up?"

"I did not! I gagged. I gagged ONCE, and that could easily be explained by having to look at your face for too lo—shit, get out of my way...." There was a blur across the hall far in front of me as Faye popped out one door and into another.

"HA!" Spike shouted, sticking his head out after her. He chuckled shortly, then called in a more normal tone, "Those healing steroids probably gave you indigestion or something."

Faye appeared again, announcing, "False alarm, shut your face," and the two disappeared into a room again. Neither seemed to have noticed me, but a vomit conversation isn't exactly one I wanted to but in on.

"Seriously," Spike started off again on the other side of the wall, "You're completely off balance, you can't fool me, you're spacesick."

"I. Am. NOT!"

Still standing out in the hall, I began to turn back, but remembered my message and started towards the door again.

"And what about that fight in the air?" Spike asked, and I froze short at the memory.

I could see just a small piece of the room from my angle. Faye had crossed her arms. "What about it?"

"Well for starters, you could've shook off those ships in no time if you'd just broken the atmosphere and done some real flying." Spike pointed out. "So, what, are you scared of space now?"

"Like I told you—"

"You were lying; Marla could've taken it fine." There was a pause, tense and thoughtful. "Look at you, you're green, when was the last time you were in space?"

She didn't answer. A force that could have been curiosity began to pump adrenaline into my muscles. I soon found myself up against the wall, breasts pushing at my lungs and toes tilted forward as I inched along the wall, wondering what was going on and if I could get front row seats for it.

When I got as close to a full view as I could get without risking exposure, I saw that Faye really did look sick. She had her back up against a wall, knees against a chest that heaved slightly. She'd tilted her head all the way back, and more visible than her face was the long, pale and slightly green column that was her neck. Muscles under her jaw moved, as if she'd answer Spike's question at any moment, but still no sound. Just Faye, sitting, gleaming especially brightly as the moonlight reflected a thin sheen of sweat.

The moon was especially bright—it caught me off guard, coaxing my eyes away from my friend and to the window. Hovering just outside the glass was Phobos, one of Mars's moons. I'd never seen it so close before, I felt like I could reach through the glass and gather a handful of pink sand, but the paralysis of my situation cut off childish fantasies like that.

I tore my self away from the view and took in the room itself. Spacious, but not well lit aside from the up front natural light. It appeared to be some kind of cheap gym, or a training area. There were a few old looking mats, some cast-aside weights in a corner, and a large, worn punching bag that dangled from the ceiling.

That's where I saw Spike. He didn't look sick, but his skin was sweaty too. A towel lay around his shoulders, he'd probably just finished a workout, or perhaps paused midway to poke fun at his ill shipmate. His lithe arms wrapped around the punching bag, allowing the chain from the ceiling to take the weight of his upper body, leaving him to half-dangle, half-sway with the movement of the bag. His eyes were on Faye, and the expression on his face was a balance between disparagement and boredom (but somewhere in the mix, a spoonful of caution as well).

"Are you just gonna sit there all night?" Spike suddenly asked in a curt voice. Separating himself from the punching bag, he started doing some kicks in the air. He didn't seem especially into his work, though. Boredom still grazed his face, and his eyes kept roaming, restlessly, from an empty space of air in front of him, to the woman sitting on the floor.

Faye's head rolled back into visibility. She looked very familiar now: pissed off and tired. "I'll sit where I want."

"Fine, just don't throw up in here, some of us actually use this room"

"I'm not sick!" She shot to her feet, and immediately one arm reached back and groped at the wall behind her for balance. Spike obviously noticed.

"When was the last time you were in space?" he asked again.

The two of them got into one of their staring contests yet again. And during the long, awkward, and intensely thick silence I got to wondering why they were even in the same room with each other. Whenever Spike and Faye collided, chaos, verbal or otherwise seemed to stir. I knew this ship had more than enough rooms for each to have their privacy, I knew that both had lived here at some point in time. The Bebop wasn't strange territory, and yet they---with all electric rage between them---stuck together as if they were lost in a faraway land and craved the familiar.

"Shut up..." Faye's low voice barely, but efficiently broke the silence.

"Why did you leave the Bebop?" Spike pressed on.

And then Faye transformed. She inhaled, long and through the nose, I could hear it and see her chest expand with as much air as it could handle. Suddenly she wasn't green anymore. She pushed away from the hall and walked, no, strutted past Spike. Her abrupt grace trumped his current crudeness, and she stalked smoothly to the window with Spike's suspicious eyes on every step.

"It.... wasn't planned, Spike," Faye responded slowly. She leaned against the window delicately, and her voice didn't match the new show of power. "I didn't want to leave, but I had to. I couldn't come back at the time; I couldn't even come for my things."

He looked angry at her, on some level. Anyone could see that Faye's words were being reluctantly dragged out of some dark closet she'd erected inside herself, but Spike still seemed angry at her. I can only guess the reason had something to do with the Bebop, and Faye deserting it and Jet unexpectedly. I wondered why she was confessing now, and to him.

He seemed angry at her--but he observed the effort it took her to speak so instead of so me insulting remark, he merely pressed her confession onward.

"At the time?"

Faye nodded. "By the time I could've gone back, months had passed. Barging in after so long...it would have been low, even for me...and...I would have had to explain—I couldn't—you see...so I stayed where I was."

I could tell before he said the next sentence that Spike wasn't going to be sensitive.

"So what was it, another gambling problem?"

Faye finally looked up at him, and I saw in Spike what I believe to be an almost-wince. She looked old—not in her features, but in the eyes. Morbid little green slits, heavy from having seen too much, glimmered brightly in the light of Phobos coming through the window behind Spike.

The eyes... They tried to be angry, tried to stare daggers, tried to ignite the fire...but she was far too weary, and could only give him a short-lived glare, full of effort.

I felt a personal fear start to well inside me. Faye didn't look strong, and I needed her. I couldn't survive whatever would blindside me next without her. This reluctant show of weakness frightened me, and strangely, I got to wondering if it frightened Spike as well. No, of course it couldn't...right?

Faye rested her head against the glass. That painful stare of hers fixed itself on the moon and she did not blink.

"This is it, isn't it? The top of the Empire State Building...."

Spike looked as confused by that comment as I was. "What does that mean?" he asked carefully, watching her, ready for whatever angle she might have incase the tables turned on their discourse.

I saw Faye give a wistful smile in her reflection on the glass. "It's an Earth thing," she told him. She sounded weirdly proud. Spike's face settled, but he watched the back of her head intently. I could see that he wanted to hear what she might say, and wasn't listening just because she was talking.

She went on: "If you're afraid of heights, you overcome your fear by going to a high up place...But the most ceremonial way of going about it is the Empire State Building. It was a building in New York, and people considered it tall....at the time...."

I couldn't see where this was going. If it had been me she was speaking to, I'd have already—and probably insensitively—requested that she get to the point. Spike didn't do any such thing. He remained silent, placing a cigarette between his lips, lighting it, and settled in as if preparing for whatever long story she might have to tell.

Spike watched her.

She went on:

"My memory came back...." Her voice was soft ant tentative. She didn't want to talk about the things that had to be said. They had to be said, or else Spike might misunderstand her and above all else she didn't want that. "The last time I told you that it wasn't completely true, but now it is...

"Before, all I had were a few images and scenes—flashes of people and places...I remembered where my old home was, which was why I left.... No note that time, because I didn't want to be chased..."

Each word was forced from her lips and said in a steady, quiet tone. There wasn't much of the original anger left on Spike's face. It had been replaced by a serious expression, concentration, but I couldn't even begin to guess what he might have been thinking about her then.

I most certainly didn't know what to think. None of this made sense to me, and most of it still doesn't, although I know a bit more of the back-story now.

"When I found nothing," Faye went on, "I was disappointed, but not as depressed as I thought I might be...because although I could see the scenes in my head...the feelings that went along with them...hadn't come. It was like looking at pictures of myself taken at an event I didn't remember---everyone around me was so happy, and I could see them smile, see myself smile, but I couldn't feel happy because their motives were a mystery to me...."

There was a long, long silence broken only by the steady tap of Faye's nail against the windowpane.

"I remember dying," Faye said.

She'd said it so suddenly and so matter-o-fact I didn't know what to think of it at all. My mind was so blank, and I looked to Spike, but all I saw was subdued understanding in his unchanging expression.

"As my memories started to return, all those things that had been familiar to me at one time—those little things I had to adjust in my mind when I woke up from the cold sleep....all the adjusting I'd done to life in this timeframe....it began to unravel."

Spike's expressionless face faltered for just a second. I caught an eyebrow move a fraction, a tensing of the neck---they were gone in an instant, and he was blank again, ready for more.

She gave a nostalgic, almost bitter laugh but she hadn't put her heart into it. "When I woke up one morning, saw the microwave and thought 'television', I knew I had a problem," the laugh came again, and I wanted to cover my ears and hide from it but I found I couldn't move for I'd been enthralled in the sadness of her story—a story I didn't even understand.

"I'd get disoriented—things like, momentarily forgetting how to use the washing machine or coffeemaker happened often because they looked and worked nothing like the machine's I'd grown up with and could now picture perfectly...Jet may have suspected something was wrong, he started to get careful around me, but I don't think he knew..."

When Spike finally broke the silence which had settled in once more, I felt so relieved my knees unlocked from their paralyzed position. I sat down on the floor and tried to breathe as much and as silently as I possibly could.

"Was that why you left?" he asked.

Faye slowly shook her head, turning it ever so slightly. "No. It almost was—the Bebop was starting to make me feel like I was living on something out of a science fiction show—but this stupid boat and Jet were all I had...and it wasn't like there was any place left I could have gone to feel more at home...there are places on earth that are still set back like they were in my old time, but I didn't want to go back to earth, you see, so I stayed here.

I got used to life all over again. I couldn't tell Jet what was going on—he hadn't heard the whole story like you did, and I know he'd have tried to help if I'd mentioned it...I...just wanted life to be as normal as I could keep it.

"I got used to life all over again," she repeated. "I did it alone, this time, and it wasn't as much fun at all, with no one....but just when I thought things might start getting back to normal..."

The finger which had been tapping the window curled back within her fist. Faye lifted her balled up right hand and slammed it against the glass, once and only once.

"The feelings," Faye explained. "The feelings that went along with the things I remembered started to come back..."

For a moment, I was unsure of how the return of emotions effected her leaving the Bebop. But then I recalled what she'd just surprised us with: Faye remembered dying. Spike seemed to realize this too, for his eyes had widened...hardly noticeable...ever so slightly...

"We'd just failed to catch a bounty on Mars..." at first I thought Faye was skipping subjects again, but Spike remained still and attentive, certain, like I should have been, that she'd come back to her point. "It was my fault, I think, I don't really know but Jet blamed it on me.

"I was in the Redtail, and he called me from the Bebop all impatient to get to the next job because we really did need the money and I was running late. He wasn't far from the Gate—told me if I wasn't back in one hour he'd leave without me.

When I took off from Mars though...some friends of that escaped bounty decided to give me a little trouble. They fired on my ship just after I'd cleared the atmosphere...I was headed towards one of Mars's moons to try and loose em... but...."

Faye's fist, which had remained rested against the glass, fell to an open palm and dropped to her side like deadweight.

"My ship got hit and...when I felt the shaking and heard the engines making noises...and when the emergency lights went on and started flashing...that warning signal buzzing...

"I looked up at that moon," Spike and I followed her stare out the window to Phobos, looming over us like a ghostly guardian. "And I saw my moon—earth's moon—and I saw the glass break and I saw my blood...I wasn't in the Redtail anymore.

"I'd gone right into a memory, I couldn't escape it. I could hear the ship I was on all those years ago tear apart, and I remembered the weightlessness..."

Anybody else would have been crying when they said things like these. But not Faye, even though she was usually so emotional. Her voice was so horribly quiet and steady I couldn't stand it—it terrified me—and it seemed to bother Spike as well. It was as if somebody had killed her, only to have left behind a corpse to tell its tale.

She continued. I wish she hadn't but she did. I don't know why I kept on listening, I was starting not to feel well, and I just couldn't stop myself.

"It was different that time—I remembered it all, and I felt it all over again. Knowing I would die...feeling the cold...wanting to scream but I couldn't because there's no air in space...I'd struggled for air, and then I'd given up. Just like that.

"And I'd woken up fifty-four years later not realizing my amnesia was a blessing."

Spike stood up. He walked slowly to her, but his strides were long, and he stood behind her. Faye watched the moon, and Spike watched the moonlight as it landed on her. He stood close, very close, but he didn't make any move to touch her or comfort her had she shown signs of being upset.

I wanted to scream at him: hold her, damn it! Maybe then she'll cry...she needs to cry...I need to cry...I wanna go home....

Faye went on:

"I don't know how I did it, but I made it back to Mars. When my hour was up, I hadn't met Jet and I didn't call him and ask to be picked up. I was too scared to go up there again so I stayed where I was, on Mars," she paused, inhaled, then added, "This is the first time I've been in space, since then." The hand which had fallen rose again to tap the glass.

"Had to go to the top of the building. Had to face my fears or stay on that damn rock for the rest of my life."

Spike smiled at her. His smile didn't try to be so much comforting as it tried to say: 'you're crazy but I'll live with it'.

"Staying still doesn't suit you, Romany." He'd almost whispered it. A soft voice to ridicule and comfort... I didn't understand them then, and I don't understand them now.

She turned around without brushing him, leaning against the window, her back to the accusing moon. They faced each other with similar traces of something I knew nothing about etched into the almost-grins on their faces.

"I suppose it doesn't," she agreed.

I got up from the wall and walked away, quietly as I could. Just as I was halfway through the nearest door, I heard my name and looked behind me to see both of them in the hallway. Terror shot through my chest---did they know I'd been listening? No, it wasn't on their faces. They looked so...so refreshed and I must look so awful.

They probably saw me half way through the door and assumed I was coming in, rather than going out, so I went with it. I forced my tongue to move and somehow told them, "Jet wants you guys to set the table or something."

Spike made a noise, and walked resignedly past me towards the living area. Faye was right behind him, belting out complaints, but she paused to stare as we passed each other.

"You okay? You look pale."

"Just spacesick, I'll be fine."

TO BE CONTINUED

And there it is. This biggie ought to hold you for a while. I'm sorry it took so long to get out, my health has not been great lately. Here's hoping this'll tide you over until I've got the next chapter of For Every Action out, and the next chapter to thisse here written.

Review please? For the politeness of it all


	9. From Mars with Love

And I bet you thought I forgot. I know you did. I got emails.

Chapter 9: From Mars with Love

I didn't realize how different houseboats were from commercial spaceflight until I tried and failed at a decent night's sleep on the Bebop. The piping all around seemed to creak and groan, as if the ship were underwater instead of floating in pressureless space---not to mention the gravity was set to Ganymede's mass, which didn't bother me unless I was lying down. Somehow, it gave me heartburn.

I lay awake, painfully situated between the wall, which was warm from the engine, and Faye, who kicked me every ten minutes or so. I recalled, the bitter irony not unnoticed, how uncomfortable my last trip to Venus had been, trying to nap against a headrest far too high for me, wishing I could lie down.

Next to me, Faye muttered something menacing as she kicked more of the sheet free from her legs, whacking my calf in the process. I'd considered pulling the whole sheet off her, but it was wrapped snugly around her legs, and removing it would risk waking her and going through another hour of tossing and turning and pillow fluffing. My whispered "ow" from the kick mixed uncontrollably with a groan as my stomach flared again. I knew I needed an antacid, but revulsion from wandering around the ship at night had kept me from moving the past few hours.

But finally, the pain became so demanding, and lying still became so boring that I sat upright and began to crabwalk to the edge of the bed. Sliding out into the hall, I stood outside Faye's room as my eyes accustomed to the darkness. Although space has no time zones, it was "night" on the Bebop, so the lights were all dimmed or off. If the lights had been on, there would've been nothing to distinguish the interior of the ship from how it would look at seven AM, high noon, or midnight. As I trudged cautiously down the corridor, my brain in a sleepy fog, I wondered what time it would be when we landed---if it was morning on the planet, but evening in Bebop time, would we eat dinner or breakfast?

I drifted in and out of my thoughts as if they were the beginnings of a real REM dream---strange, how I slept better standing up that night--- until I shook my head and found myself in the common room. Tiptoeing, I edged towards Marla on the couch. She still looked prone and sickly, but even in the dimmed lamplight and white starshine, I saw it was more of a familiar unconsciousness, as if she'd just passed out from a particularly trying kegger. She was even snoring slightly.

The relief at finding her improved eased my stomach a great deal, but I kneeled and picked through the first aid kit on the floor anyway. It didn't take long to find an antacid, and I popped one into my mouth with satisfaction, as if I were stealing it from Marla and not the hospitable Jet. I'd swallowed it whole and sat down on the floor. I leaned my head against the couch, my temple cushioned by Marla's soft upper arm; I was half, going on completely asleep when the computer on the coffee table flashed out of hibernation with a bright scream.

"WARNING! WARNING!"

"Oh my God!" I jumped and landed hard on my tailbone. I immediately looked to Marla, figuring this was some mean practical joke of hers, but the voice came from behind.

"Edwardware has detected an introoooooder in the system!"

I turned around. "Whathfuck?" I slurred, disbelieving. The voice had sounded like a child's, but the speaker was a cartoon yellow circle with a pointed mouth. It whizzed across the computer screen, quickly flipping from wide smiles to slanted, angry eyes. Behind the face, text rolled down the screen, windows opened and passwords were typed all on their own as if the computer was haunted.

The face moved so that its lip pointed like an arrow towards the Bebop's flight plan, now displayed on the monitor. "WARNING! Firewalls are down-- Intruder alert-lert-lert!"

"Faaaye…?" I called, trying to be loud but feeling too bewildered to focus on my voice. I thought about getting her, but what if the face had more to say? Should I be watching the screen to see what files were being hacked—or should I try to shut down the computer? Maybe there was a way to trace the intruder, to find out the who and the where from…but of course, I didn't know how to do that. "FAYE! Spike! Uh…JET! Somebody get in here!"

I heard an angry groan, and then Faye was in the doorway. She looked hunched and sour, with a hand on her hip as she tripped into the room. "Be quiet," she snapped, as if my voice were a bright light in her dilated eyes. "Don't have a conniption—there's a defibrillator in the box."

"What? no—No! Marla's fine," I waved my hands. "Lookit the computer. The lil' yellow thing's screaming about intruders."

"Eh?" Faye blinked. She swept a fist across her face and seemed to waken slightly. I pointed at the monitor, and she leaned over me to take a look. "WARNING!" it shouted at her glowering face. "Oh swell idea, Ed."

"That thing's talking about a hacker, isn't it?" I grimaced.

"Really. No kidding." Faye breathed. She sounded as exhausted as I felt—but at least she'd managed to catch a nap. "I'll go wake up Jet."

She was gone in an instant, and I was back to sitting on the floor. I shifted uncomfortably in the gap between prone Marla, and the increasingly suspicious computer. I stood up and began pacing circles around the couch. I suddenly felt I needed motion to do my best brooding in self pity.

Why was everyone suddenly after me? I cared nothing for semilogical explanations, I'd decided to take all the gunfire personally. "First the Circle chased us right to the Red Dragons," my inner voice growled. "They chase us on the ground, then they chase us in ships, now—NOW we're being chased in the FUCKING INTERNET!"

I kicked the back of the couch.

Marla rolled over.

"Ooohh…and they'll probably find us on this ship too, which means they can chase us in space! What's next—in boats? On top of a train? Underground?" A voice knocked me out of my thoughts, just as I had my leg up to kick again.

"Is anybody there?" More startling than the voice, was its familiarity. The message repeated. "Is anybody there?"

I blinked. "…Shin?"

The computer screen flickered, and his face appeared on the videophone. He was glazed with static and drifting in and out of focus…also, the yellow thing appeared to be eating his hair, but it was really him. "Miss Chen!" he cried out, looking relieved. "I thought I had better check the Bebop. Spike didn't come back from your meeting, and his car is missing, so—-"

"Spike's here," I assured him. Dropping to my knees in front of the coffee table, I straightened the monitor to face me. "Don't know where the car is, but forget that for a second and tell me: you're the one hacking the ship, right?"

"Yeah," He nodded. "Can you turn off the firewall? It keeps trying to sever my connection." Right then the yellow circle was biting the image of his left ear and leaving pixels behind.

"How do I do that?" I asked.

"Never mind, I'll just make this fast. Is everyone all right?"

I shifted to the side to give him a view of Marla on the couch. "In a few days, hopefully yes."

I winced a little. Shin's practically perpetual look of worry had gained more of an edge. He sighed quickly, and went on. "Okay. The best thing for all of you would be for Spike to come back to Tharsis, and for the rest of you to head into the territory of the White Tiger Syndicate."

Goody. More running. "Do you want me to wake up Spike?" I offered.

"No time, the firewall's gonna cut me off real soon." Indeed, the face had already devoured an eye and a half. "Besides, Spike will agree with me on this next part. You, Miss Hearst, and Miss Gatsby need to change ships as soon as possible—"

"Okay but—"

"The last thing we want is to get hostages involved."

"Hostages?"

"Let Spike know I put money for a ship in one of his accounts. He'll know which—" The yellow face devoured Shin's mouth in a great, digital chomp and the screen went blank.

Ten minutes later, the ship's daytime lights flickered in every corridor. From the lower deck, an egg timer chimed and the warm aroma of coffee blanketed my air. The ship was alive again—and Spike and Jet were awake again. The two plus Faye had me cornered in an armless chair, impatiently drilling me on my conversation with Shin.

"Why didn't you wake us up?" asked Jet in an overly controlled voice.

"I just told you," I said. "I shouted. I woke up Faye."

Off to the side, Faye crossed her arms with mighty ease and sniffed apathetically. "She did," she agreed. "And I tried to wake you up, but you changed the lock on your door and it took longer than usual to pick."

Jet rolled his eyes. "Well I apologize for wanting privacy."

"At least you learned a lesson," Faye countered daintily.

Jet's blue eyes narrowed, tension creasing his forehead. His patience was dwindling fast. "Faye will you focus---"

"What I want to know," Spike butted in, "is why nobody woke up me?"

"Because nobody likes you?" Faye offered, examining her nails.

"It was MY message!"

The impending argument stopped before it started when Jet slammed his fist onto the coffee table so hard one of the coasters nobody used fell and rolled to a halt at Faye's boot. She gave it a sulky half-kick and looked away from the men.

"Now you two shut it until I've had at least six more hours rest," Jet Black ordered. He held a glare on Spike until the younger man had, like Faye, found the wall more interesting to look at. Then he turned back to me, instantly more gentile. "Did this guy say how he knew to look for you here? Did he say anything that could explain cracking Ed's firewall that much?"

"Uh-uh," I shook my head. "Shin said he'd had a feeling he better look for us on the Bebop, and that's all he said about the ship. And the firewall ate him, so he really didn't get all the way past it."

Jet huffed, and reached out for the computer. "Either this guy's some bigshot hacker, or he knows something about backdoors in my computer," Jet rumbled, and glared meaningfully at Spike. "And I don't like that one bit."

Spike shifted on his long legs, rocking sideways a little. "Look Jet, you don't have to get into this. It's my business and I can take care of it."

Faye's head whipped back to look—not at Spike, but Jet-- with a mixture of indignation and fierce apprehension on her face. He stood up very fast, hands on his hips. "This is my ship, Spike." Jet said in his clear, deep voice that was so matter-of-fact. "My ship, not your office. But as long as you're trying to combine the two, why don't you explain how your little friend decided this was the first place he'd look?"

"Well he knew the name of the ship," Spike started a bit lamely "And probably a rough description—I mean, we're on the YMCA website, and the man's good at his research."

"Research doesn't get you past one of Ed's firewalls," Jet countered.

Faye piped up with a sudden thought. "When did she make that firewall anyway?" From the look on Spike's face, this was a good question. "I mean, she had all sorts of stuff on her tomato thing—but I don't remember her messing with your computer, Jet."

Jet put his metal fingers to his forehead and rubbed at the lines. "I found the program a couple weeks after she left…wait a second," he stopped to turn his glare on Spike up another ten notches. "There's no way Shin could've gotten past a firewall that good unless he created a backdoor in the system by himself, and he'd have to do that from the inside."

"What's all that mean?" Faye asked.

"It means," Jet stomped a big step closer to Spike, "That this guy was in my ship's computer before that program was turned on—probably before it was made—so tell me Spike: HOW LONG HAS THIS GUY BEEN SPYING ON MY SHIP?"

While all this was going on, I'd left my chair to stand behind the couch. Marla was still sleeping soundly, oblivious to all the goings on. I felt like I needed space; the strange tension in the air was buildings fast, making my skin prickle. I wasn't sure what was going on, but Faye was half way between smiling like an idiot and attempting to calm Jet down with a hose.

Obviously, there were no correct answers for poor Spike. He resigned himself to the large, fuming man's incoming outburst. Looking Jet right in the eye, his overly hunched shoulders shrugged.

"I dunno. Probably a—a few…years."

Faye smothered a loud laugh in her hand, pure vengeful delight in her eyes. I decided to go check on the coffee.

--

An hour later, a series of hard pokes in my back roused me from sleep. "Ugh, what?" I muttered, and pulled the sheet over my head. This forced insomnia really wasn't fair.

"Hey," Faye yanked the sheet back down. She was wide awake and in a good mood. Through the wall, the echoing sounds of Jet's yelling still sounded strong. "Listen to that, Spike's getting it worse than I got when he tattled on me for swiping the emergency gas money—serves him right."

"Yes. Spike's in trouble." I gripped the pillow tightly, incase she'd take that too. "But did you have to wake me up to talk about it?"

"What?" Faye blinked. She'd only been half listening, her ears perked to catch snitches of the berating Jet had kicked her out of for cheering to loud. "Oh no, no. I wanted to you to tell me what Shin said one more time."

"Not again!" I stuffed my face in the pillow. "I haven't slept in forever, and I repeated it a million times."

The mattress shifted underneath me as Faye propped herself on her elbows. "One more time," she urged. "C'mon, something's been bugging me about it and I can't figure out what."

I growled loudly, and moved the pillow a fraction. "Short version: hacked in, said get off the ship, wants us to go into Tiger territory—wherever that is."

"Jupiter." Faye replied automatically as she sat up and hunched over her crossed legs. Her eyes were only open half way, which could have been from exhaustion, but the muscles on her face portrayed concern. She rested her chin lightly on bridged fingers, and stared into the darkness of her room, unmoving and suddenly preoccupied.

But I was too tired to think about body language, and barely managed to get my head on the right side of the pillow before falling asleep again. Predictably, Faye roused me quickly.

"WHAAAT!" I screeched when the poking resumed. She looked unfazed.

"You said he used the word 'hostages'?"

"Yeah…but to be honest, I don't really feel like a hostage, more like a victim of circumstance. Insane circumstances only B movies could rival. Goodnight." I shoved my pillow into her hands, hoping to God she took the hint.

Faye sighed heavily, and lay back down with an equally weighted plop.

Seconds later, she was up again, this time announcing herself with a loud "FUCK!"

"What now?" I gasped. I was so tired; I'd come to the conclusion that one of us had to die. My stomach flared alive as I sat up, ready to scream until my tongue fell out, but I paused with my mouth open to stare. Faye had flung herself out of the bed and was pacing manically across the room. Her hands flashed from mouth to sides in blurred swings. "What's wrong?" I tried to ask carefully.

"It wasn't what you said, it's what he said," Faye muttered, and I finally understood this sudden movement of hers came from deep, frantic thought.

"Who said what?" I tried. I didn't really think she was paying attention to me, but suddenly her hands held my shoulders in a vice grip.

"Listen, listen," she ordered in a rush. There was a terror of understanding in her eyes as she began to spell it all out. "They knew Spike was on the Bebop for that long—that means Vicious knew, right? They couldn't have kept that from him, unless Shin did, but….no, no…"

I was finding it very hard to blink. "What's wrong?"

She watched me vaguely for a microsecond, and released my shoulders. In a flash, she was across the room, squeezing through the door as soon as it had slid open enough to let her through.

"Faye!" I jumped after her, and caught up in the hall just as she had forced open the door that led back to the common room. A frozen image was before us: Spike and Jet, mouths open in mid-yell, arms raised and paused comically, stared at us in surprise. Just behind them Marla was awake and sitting up, taking in everything with bleary interest.

"We have to turn this ship around," Faye announced before anyone else could move.

"What?" Jet recovered, lowering his fists a little. "Go back to Mars where a Syndicate is waiting for you, are you crazy?"

Marla immediately brightened. "We're in space?" she asked.

"Listen to me," Faye shouted, and left the doorway. In what looked like one, quick step she was in front of Spike, looking up into Jet's eyes urgently. She was tiny, between the two of them, but everything about her demanded attention. She always did. She was so intense. "If Shin's was spying on us before Spike broke up the Red Dragons, he can't have been the only one to know about the Bebop---somebody in the Gold Serpent Circle must know too!"

"We know that Faye," Jet reminded her in an attempted easing tone. "That's why we're going to Ganymede, remember?"

That miniscule note of condescension in his polite voice enraged her, sent her over the edge. Faye grabbed a fistful of Jet's shirt in her white hand and growled through her teeth. "Put two and two together old man. They know about us. The know about me, they know about you--"

She let him finish. Jet's eyes widened in that same way Faye's had only moments before in the bedroom. "And they know about Ed." He looked over Faye's head and into Spike's eyes. "We have to turn this ship around."

A moment later, I flattened myself against the doorway as the three rushed past me at once. Down the hall, toward the rotating hallway, and from there the bridge. When they vanished around the closest corner I let out the long breath I'd been holding and wobbled into the living room.

"Hey Viv," Marla greeted. "Sit down, you look disgusting," and with a wince she curled her legs in to give me a space on the couch. I fell into it, nauseous with confusion. My boss allowed me half a minute to collect myself before the impatient clicking in her throat reverberated through my ears, and she began: "So it seems I've been shot."

I sighed. My head immediately ached. "Yes, you have," I confirmed weakly. It took a few seconds more to finish. "I'm sorry."

Marla had eased herself backward to lean against the back of the couch at an angle only comfortable to her. She glanced back up at me. "What for? You didn't shoot me."

"Yes, but…"and I tried to explain to her about my lie, and how it had snowballed her onto a fishing boat with a hole in her side. She would hear nothing of it.

"You didn't shoot me," Marla repeated, popping some of Faye's healing steroids into her mouth and swallowing them dry. "That's really all there is to it. I blame the man with the gun. Now," she paused to gag at the foul taste of powder from the pills, "now how about filling me in on what I've missed. I woke up to some hilarious screaming, you should hear some of the sailor talk that one-armed guy's got."

It was an amazing relief to tell Marla all that had happened. Even laying back, pale and bandaged, she was a rock of what had once been my everyday. After all the freewheeling in uncertainty I'd experienced, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for her. Thank God she was a freak of nature. Marla Hearst wouldn't bend in horror as she heard the tale of her own narrow escape from death; instead, she smiled with pride in her unconscious bravery. Delighted. Enthralled.

"Do you think I'll have a scar?" she asked as she traced a circle on the bandages with a chipped nail. "That would be something to show the grandkids---yours, not mine. I'm not planning on any."

I filled her in on everything that she'd missed---everything except those conversations I'd eavesdropped on. I was embarrassed enough about that already, and I didn't need her pressing me for gossip about our shipmates. When I finally got to the part with the hacker that turned out to be Shin, the source of Jet's anger, and Faye's freakout Marla was beaming.

"Fascinating," she murmured, and I could see the cogs churning in her head. She gave no comment on what I'd just told. "Say," she began instead, "Let's go find a window, huh? I wanna see the view."

So I helped her up, and arm in arm we tumbled into the gravity wheel. Marla loved it. "This is so much better than commercial flight! Don't you feel just like a hamster?" she asked as she watched the doors swing slowly by. "Which one is it?"

"Is what?" I asked, trying to read the labels on the doors that passed one by one, but they were all worn and scratched.

"I dunno…someplace with windows," and then she reached out and grabbed the handlebar next to the nearest door. We both lurched, connected by our hooked elbows, tugged by the contradicting friction. With my free hand, I hit the release. The door opened on the bridge. How typical of Marla to get it on the first try.

Everyone else was still there, sitting in what little light there was. They gave little acknowledgement when we entered. Faye gave a single, flop of a wave and said "Look who's awake." Jet offered his chair behind the control consol and I helped Marla into it before giving the room a proper examination.

There was quite a view, just like Marla wanted. Several large windows opened onto an expanse of bright gold lines. Traveling through a Gate was going through a tunnel of light at an unfathomable speed. There's nothing I can compare it to, except to suggest you try to imagine what being a grain of sand in a slide of melted amber would look like.

The view took over the room and dwarfed everything else, which was probably a good thing. There was a lump of a sensor panel in the middle of the room, and a backlit table which Fake sat on top of. It cast an eerie blue glow over her thighs, out to her knees, which Spike's nose was level with. He sat backwards in a chair, impossibly hunched over, his chin on the backrest.

The feeling of the room, I honestly couldn't guess. I retreated back to Marla, content now to have her speak for me. And it wasn't long before she did just that. She looked over the consol in front of her; examining the dials and screens, she quickly found something to focus on. "I thought we were going back to Mars," she said.

"We're not?" I asked, leaning over her shoulder to try and understand the instruments the way she did.

"This says Earth," Marla replied, looking to the others but pointing to the small screen on the middle of the consol.

"It's where Ed is," Faye explained quietly, eyes glaring down at Spike. He glared back. "We have to get her before Spike's little friends do."

Spike opened his mouth but Jet spoke first. "Quiet, Faye," he said firmly. "Now's not the time. I don't need you two all childish over this; we all have to work together."

Faye rolled her eyes and recrossed her legs. "Maybe they wont even try to go after her," she said. "Maybe they haven't even thought of it. Syndicate men can be pretty thickheaded." Her voice was light and it demeaned the situation; practically the polar opposite of her attitude only minutes ago.

Jet's eyebrows drew further downward. "We're going to assume a worst-case scenario here," he said. "That keeps down the surprises."

Marla was leaning over as far as she could, given the bandages, alert with interest. "What's the worst case scenario?" she asked. "Why's a Syndicate after Ed? What'd she do? How many guys will they send?"

I was glad Jet didn't admonish her for butting in. He actually seemed glad that at least someone in the room was willing to admit that we were heading into terrible odds. "The worst case scenario is that the Circle goes after Ed, and with way more guns than we can handle," Jet explained.

Marla's face was back to full color by this point. "Fascinating….so who's Ed, anyway?"

"Ever heard of the computer hacker, Radical Edward?" Spike asked, finally speaking. He was twirling Faye's shoe around his finger, just out of her reach.

"Yes, of course but--," Marla Hearst was now fully revived. I wouldn't have been surprised if the bullet hole had already healed. "No way…Marvelous!" She clapped her hands together and beamed up at me, eyes full of familiar glitter. "We get to meet Radical Edward, how do you like that?"

"I thought Radical Edward was a guy," I said.

"You can meet her if we can find her," Spike corrected. "And get her and ourselves in and out of Earth without being blown up."

Jet leaned over the backlit table, his real arm supporting his weight and his metal hand on his hip. "Okay Spike," he said, "How about you let us know what you expect to find when we get to Earth?"

Spike's face was slack with a flat combo of weariness and lethargy. "The thing about Ed is…she's got a reputation," he started slowly. "I don't think anyone besides Shin would get desperate enough to pop in on video; there's a good chance the circle doesn't know she's just a kid. So, these men are gonna get geared up to fight a legendary hacker who loads of rumors turned into a superhuman. If you really want my opinion, we're heading into overkill."

Faye snorted. "So, we're going to need guns?" she asked as if it weren't obvious.

"We're going to need a plan," Jet said, leaning heavily on the table. He looked meaningfully from Faye to Spike, holding his stare for just the right amount of time. "The Circle probably didn't expect us to turn right back around after you two made such a big show of leaving. That gives us the element of surprise."

"I don't suppose we have any other advantages?" Faye asked, staring pointedly at Spike. "Like, oh I don't know, a cavalry?"

"Faye…" Spike practically whined in exasperation. I couldn't help but notice she'd been clawing him with special attention ever since she'd grudgingly explained her new relationship with outer space. Perhaps Faye acted all thorns with him because he'd dragged her secrets from her. Maybe she showed her teeth to remind him they were still there—she could still bite, even with wounds exposed. Still…whatever her reasons, Spike seemed sick of letting her nurse that injured pride.

"Quit acting like I'm the puppet master in all this," he barked, chucking her shoe out into the hallway. It clunked around the moving hall, and its echoed thunks would be a constant background noise. "I never wanted you involved, I definitely didn't want Ed involved, and I really don't have half as much control as you're blaming me for."

"Oh poor Spike," she rolled her eyes. "I'll play the violin for you later, but what does all that shit have to do with getting us some ships?"

"I'm trying to tell you, I don't think I can help!" he finally said point blank. Faye looked genuinely shocked.

"What are you talking about, the Red Dragons must have some ships left!" she shouted, and then looked to Jet, imploring him to join in. Jet merely shrugged. He didn't seem surprised.

"We both watched that coup on the news, Faye," Jet reminded her. "It's not as if the Syndicates have the army's number of ships, just a fair amount of good ones, and half of their zipcrafts are gone."

"It's only been a year," Spike pointed out. Faye seemed a little put off by that; she'd probably felt it was longer. "And the Red Dragons just don't have the money the Circle's got. We put most of the money we have into supplies, keeping our headquarters up. Yeah, we do have ships, but not many."

Faye quietly fumed, clenching her fists. I heard the knuckles crack just as Spike continued.

"All the zipcrafts we have belong to members. I'd have to ask Shin which ones. Dragon ships…" he turned his eyes to the ceiling, thinking, "We have three cruisers, and I think one is operational—and before you say anything, it's too big to take out of dock without the Circle blitzing us. They don't know we have it. There's a handful of other boats, most of them are being used on missions…I don't think I can get much help, if any, to meet us at Earth when we get there. Not unless you're willing to wait a few hours"

Faye let out a long, probably steaming breath. "No," she whispered. "We can't wait."

"Then we'll come up with a plan for our own ships," said Jet. His voice held no doubts. "We can leave Hearst and Vivika watching the Bebop while the rest of us take the zipcrafts down to earth. We can split up and find Ed that way."

"Okay…" Faye nodded, "We'll can hide the Bebop in the moon fragments, that will give it some defense—" Faye stopped as Marla cleared her throat. "What?"

"I have ships," said Marla, and for a number of seconds nobody spoke.

"What?" Faye said again. "I didn't know you---Why didn't you say something?"

Marla shrugged stiffly. "I figured Spike would have some, and I don't like wrecking my stuff." To be honest, I hadn't even thought about Marla's ships until she'd mentioned them. I knew she wasn't talking about her monocraft, but her set of three army transports she'd bought from a scrap yard floating near Eurpoa. I'd only seen them twice. They were a little ugly, faster in air than in space, and all named Titanic. She'd bought them before employing me, back when she made regular trips to Earth in search of treasure. I suppose she wanted them to transport what wouldn't fit in her zip, but by the time I met her, those ships were out of commission.

"What kind of ships?" Jet wanted to know.

"Three Hawks…I think they're C class, '58." she began to tail off statistics, sprinkling them with descriptions like Pieces of Crap and Flaming Lemons. "Oh, and there's no artificial gravity."

"They'll be fine," Faye assured her, nervous hope twitching her lips. Flying junk was better than nothing, and while I didn't know how Titanics 1-3 flew, they probably looked loads better than Spike's Swordfish II. "We'll deal."

Spike stood up, just a little suddenly. "I'll call the hotel," he said, "Get those Hawks some crew." He tromped into the corridor.

"Well at least he's doing something," Faye murmured, watching him leave. A muffled clunk sounded from the hall, and her shoe bounced through the door, skidding to a stop on the grating between us all. Scowling, she limped toward it.

"Here Viv," Marla motioned my attention back to the consol in front of her. "Who takes care of my ships, it's Saul isn't it? It's Saul. Saul Deton. See if you can find his number, I don't know it off the top of my head. Tell him to prep the crapmobils for whoever Spike sends." She eased herself out of the chair, using my arm for leverage.

"Where's that cane of yours, Jet?" Faye asked, teetering as she eased her foot back into her shoe.

"Storage room," Jet grunted, eyeing the way Marla tilted with a hand gingerly over her bandages. His eyes slowly crossed to me, then back to my boss. "These girls are covered in blood. Ask Spike if his friends can bring them some new clothes"

"Yeah sure," Faye said, and let Marla hold onto her shoulder as they both left.

Jet and I lingered in silence for a moment. I busied myself by fiddling around with the buttons until I'd somehow activated the videophone. All of a sudden, I found myself talking. "She means well," I said, and then realized how it sounded. "Well, really I think she's just sour she slept through her first in-flight battle, but she still likes helping. And, you patched up that bullet hold….she doesn't forget things like that."

Jet shook his head, eyes flicking towards the window. "You know, by now I shouldn't be surprised when these things happen, but I still am. Why is that?"

"I don't know," I admitted. Vaguely, I wondered how Spike and Faye had pulled anything so out of proportion while on the Bebop together. I slouched down in the chair and tried to give him an understanding smile. "Marla still surprises me, but not as much these days. My brother says I'm getting jaded."

He laughed. "I'm beginning not to believe in that whole 'jaded' idea. Something always comes and shakes things up. Life happens. I thought I knew Spike, until Faye showed up and I saw about ten new sides to him. It takes a lot of effort for people to truly settle."

"Really?" that curiosity I shouldn't have, but did, began to stir once more. I was thinking about the shades of moonlight that had crossed over Spike's face as he listened to Faye's soft voice, only a few hours ago. The way they changed with the expression in his jaw and eyes. A thousand expressions, nearly invisible distinctions, and nothing I recognized. "What was he like before?"

"He kept his cool a lot better, I can tell you that," Jet grinned nostalgically. The table light clashed with the luminous Gate, and put the wrinkles around his eyes in a strange relief. "But to be honest—and don't mention this to either one of those schoolchildren--- she was good for him. He slept less. Talked more."

"I won't tell," I promised, grinning, wondering if Marla had been any good for me. Probably not; at least, not for my blood pressure. I sighed then, because I could sense this exchange was coming to an end. "Well, I better find Saul's number."

"Information is the purple button," Jet supplied. He straightened up and strode towards the door. "Just shout if you need help," he added, then left.

I sat alone on the bridge, staring at the controls in front of me. Soon enough, Jet would take the Bebop off of Auto Pilot, and lead us through the maze of Moon rocks that guarded Earth. He'd use these same controls, sit in this chair, but for the moment the spot was mine.

Experimentally, I touched cautious fingers to the control stick. It moved, but the ship didn't. Autopilot was engaged, so it did no harm when I clasped my eager hands around the grip and jerked it hard to the side. The thrill that filled me came from knowing that without the autopilot, my touch would have killed us all. In a corner in the deepest part of my mind, I'd just evaded a missile from an alien ship. I slid my finger down the leather, pushing an imaginary trigger, retaliating without mercy.

"Bang," I whispered. The alien ship exploded, and dust settled over my imagination. I'd played this game before, many years ago, on my first trip to Venus. A stewardess had taken me to the cockpit after my mother whispered to her it was my birthday (it wasn't). The captain gave me a sticker with a rocket ship on it, and I got to sit in his lap and pretend to fly our shuttle. A long time later, Marla would try teaching me to pilot her monocraft with disastrous results.

I let go of the controls, and went to the window. The view was still gold, still enchanting in its own way. The mass of lines were the same, yet different, the way clouds are. You see one, you've seen them all, but the sight can still be hypnotizing. It occurred to me then, that I hadn't yet seen the Bebop from the outside.

I didn't know what she looked like, but with a view like this, she had to be beautiful.

TBC

So, have we all finished Harry Potter? Good, good. WTF IS WITH----DYING?

I just had to get that out of the way, partly because of outrage (only minor) and partly because I feel Rowling and I share a certain bond that comes from updating our stories almost never.

But now, down to business. There are a lot of things I'm sorry about. I'm sorry it took so long to update, I'm sorry this chapter isn't up to my usual par, I'm sorry that nothing happens in it but I had to cut it off anyway for length, and I'm sorry that I just don't like it.

There are a few scattered explanations for the gap between this update and the last. College being a bitch to me is one, but by the end of the year I got the hang of it and am looking forward to going back. Health is another, but I'm pretty much better now.

At any rate, if you can believe it I want this fic ended more than the rest of you all put together. I figure if I can get out one chapter a month it'll be done by January. If I actually manage to keep that schedule, this chapter would count for July and I'd have another one out for August.

I did get some emails about this fic, and about my other one. I don't mind emails, I encourage them actually cause they contain the productive value of guilt. However, please note that about every other week I post the status of my fanfics in my livejournal (link in bio) so please don't email me with questions I already cover in there.

For those who've stuck with me, thank you so much. You're my heroes (Especially Brigid)


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